


365 Days

by abovethesmokestacks



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Soulmate AU, a wild research rabbit hole appears!, blogging while drunk, constantly wondering if I am depicting stuff correctly, hopefully not too erroneous medical speech, loss of limb, more coffee than I could ever handle, spot the cameos of other mcu characters, they're there and they are numerous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-02 17:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15801618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: "You all know how it is, the one constant in this hellish life: you have a soulmate. No idea who it is, no clues whatsoever, only 25 years to find them. In 364 days, my time’s up. It sounds like a lot, but so does 25 years, and look where that got me. So, for better or for worse, I’ll try. I’ve got twelve months to find whoever my soul is knit together with." Soulmate AU





	1. March

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing a soulmate AU is finally here! Chapters will be posted to my tumblr on Saturdays and here on AO3 on Sundays. Hope you enjoy!

_“You ever think we’ll have our lives together?”_

_“What, you’re saying this ain’t life, ‘cause I’m feeling plenty alive right now, Barnes.”_

_“Smartass, you know what I mean.”_

_“Yeah, and lemme tell you, this is not the time to have this conversation.”_

_“Oh, you wound me!”_

_“Yeah, well, better me than-”_

* * *

 

“Happy birthday!”

The cheers echo around you, partially drowned out by the bassline thudding through the small apartment. You force yourself to smile, to look elated, exaggerating an eye roll as you empty your glass. More cheers and whooping, and god, can’t the floor open up and swallow you whole? Should it hurt to smile? It shouldn’t, right? Tipping your empty glass and nodding to the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you break away from your circle of birthday guests.

“You could at least pretend to like it.”

Wanda, your roommate, slides up next to you, picking up a beer from the ice-filled vat on the counter. This time, the eye roll is sincere. The two of you have been roommates since first day of college, and decided to share an apartment after graduation. Apparently, six years were enough for her to learn just about every tell you have. You blame it on her majoring in psychology. She says she doesn’t need psychology to read you like an open book, and you’ve never been able to decide whether to take offense or not.

“I like it!” you protest, though even you can tell how feeble and transparent it sounds. “I do, I’m just…” You look out over the little crowd, cramped into your dorm. Nothing.

“What is that?” Wanda asks, pulling your attention back.

“What’s what?”

“That.” Wanda nods to the living room. “You’ve been doing it a lot. Looking out over the crowd and then sighing wistfully like you’re the heroine of a 19th century novel, waiting for her-”

Her mouth falls open and you suppress a groan. Oh, god, no.

“Are you…” She lowers her voice to a whisper, “Are you feeling your clock?”

“Aren’t you?” you hiss, grabbing a bottle of your own, popping the cap. “I’m 24 years old, Wanda! I’ve got 365 days before I run out of time, forgive me if I want to find the person I’m supposed to end up with!”

“Well, can’t it wait until tomorrow at least? It’s your birthday, babe, you shouldn’t be consumed by an existential crisis on your birthday.”

You snort, taking a swig and grimacing at the bitter taste. Why must beer taste so much like dusty ass? “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought the song went  _‘It’s my party and I’ll have an existential crisis if I want to’_.”

Wanda sticks her tongue out, because the two of you are obviously adults with serious jobs and you’re only a little inebriated. It dissipates the tension, breaking you down into giggles. You know she’s right, you have been doing a lot of staring. And maybe the staring can be suspended for a night. Not like you’re gonna find your soulmate here in this mess.

(you’d know, you’d checked)

But the thought refuses to go away. It merely takes a backseat while you laugh and drink and sing a horribly off-key rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody for god knows what reason. It immediately pounces you the second everyone have gone home and you’re back in your bedroom. You’re twenty-four years old. Twenty-four years. You haven’t been living under a rock, so where is your supposed soulmate hiding?

Huffing, you grab a bowl of leftover chips, a final bottle of beer and hunker down with your laptop. Just one episode of that new series you started binging on Netflix. Just one. Just o-

You wake up feeling like death warmed over, a crick in your neck and you laptop tipped over on the floor. Why is it that the day after is always so goddamn harsh? It’s not fair, you should be able to have fun without being punished for it like this. Groaning, you pull your covers more tightly around you, poking an arm out to lift the laptop onto the bed again. Apparently, you’d fallen asleep in the middle of an episode, the light blinking to indicate the device was still running. With a yawn, you pressed the space-key, only for that yawn to turn into a choke when you saw the page open in your browser.

No.  _No, no, no._

This was why you needed Wanda when you were drunk.

You’d started a blog. A goddamn, fucking blog. Staring at the screen, you read the post with ever increasing horror.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 04.13 am:_

_You alll know how it is, the one constant in this hellish life: you hve a soulmate. No idea who it is, no clues whatsoever, only 25 yesrs to find them. Twenty-five years. Feels lik an eternity when youre five. No need to worry. Not like it’s more impprtant than getting whatever toy you’re salivating over for Christnas, right?_

_I’m twenty-four. ~~Today’s~~  Yesterday was my birthfay._

_I don’t have a soulmate._

_Or well, you know, I hve one. Just haven’t found each other yet._

_In 364 days, my time’s up. It sounds lik a lot, but so does 25 years, and look where that got me. So, for better or for worsw, I’ll try. I’ve got twelve months to find whoever mu soul is knit together with. I might as well make a spectacle of myself anf track my progress._

_But first, I need to sleep for like… 50 hours. Or at least five. Let’s aim for eight, that’s healthy._

_X_

You’re certain the entire floor can hear you screaming.

Wanda bursts through your door, her hair a mess, mascara smudges under her eyes and a baseball bat in her hands. It takes the both of you a few seconds to calm down, though on your part, it consists of clamping your hands over your mouth and trying not to hyperventilate. Wanda, having assessed there is no threat in your room, lets the baseball bat fall to the floor and stalks to you. You love her, but god, does she look murderous right now.

“What… the…  _hell_?” she all but hisses at you. “I thought you were getting killed!”

“I’m as good as dead,” you lament, turning the laptop to show Wanda the fruits of your alcohol-fueled labour.

By the time she’s browsed through the short text, she’s gaping, staring at you. For a moment you think she’s seeing the gravity of what you’ve done, but then she grabs your pillow and whacks you over the head with it.

“I can’t believe you made me think you were getting murdered in here!”

“Are you not seeing this?” You motion back to the screen, pointing to a number. “I might as well go out and ask to be murdered, it would be less embarrassing! The blog got five hundred hits overnight, who the fucks reads blogs at 4 am?”

Wanda rolls her eyes, pulls your laptop from you and sets it on the nightstand, “Honey, no offense, but 500 hits… not that much. You don’t know how many of those would follow any future posts…”

“…which there won’t be!” you interrupted, burying your face in your hands.

“Now hold on…”

Shit. You know that face. You have known that face for six years, that was the face she made just before she got logical and reasonable and you ended up doing something that would always be filed into “It Seemed Like a Good Idea At the Time". Like… going to a frat party just to have it over and done with. Or trying to get locked in the library so you could have access to all the books you needed and study for the very important midterm you had the next day. Or:

“It’s not like you’ve told a lot about yourself in the post you made, so no one knows who you are. This could be good for you, both therapeutic and entertaining. I think you should keep going.”

“Of course you do.”

“And you said so yourself, you might as well track your progress,” she continues with a smirk.

“Oh, no, I didn’t say that. Drunk Me said that and Drunk Me is made of vodka and bad ideas, you can’t hold her responsible.”

It’s Wanda’s turn to roll her eyes, turning around and grabbing the bat to walk out. “Still think you should do it!” she calls over her shoulder.

“Can’t hear you over the sound of me deleting my drunk mistake!”

You absolutely are going to delete it. Wanda is crazy if she thinks she can mind trick you into doing this. The blog will disappear, no one will be hurt, you can go back to your regularly scheduled life with an underpaying job and no soulmate as far as the eye can see. Normalcy is just a click away. Maybe two. Three tops, possibly with some ridiculous security question.

The blog will be no more. It’ll fizzle out and go die on the trash heap of the Internet and then-

_(1) new comment(s)_

Okay, what?

Click

_**Anonymous**  commented: god i am the same. i’m only 22 but this worries me, it’s like i have this huge clock just ticking ticking ticking n all my friends are finding their soulmate while i’m off in a corner feeling like damaged goods. it’s so good to see someone being open about this and i obv hope you find your soulmate_

Well, shit.

Two clicks

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  replied to  **Anonymous** ’s comment: Look, I made this blog when I was drunk and I blame my friends for leaving me unsupervised. They should know better. No, they really should. I didn’t mean for this blog to exist, and I’m not planning on continuing it, even though I practically am by replying to your comment, and I don’t even know if I should post it now that I think about it because who knows if you’ll even see it before I delete. No, screw it, I’m gonna say it. It sucks being here. Tail end of The Window and oblivion charging at you and you can’t move, can’t do anything but flap around and hope that significant other sees you_

You stare at the cursor blinking on the screen. Outside, Wanda is clearing the kitchen, bottles clinking while the scent of coffee wafts in. The more you look at your reply, the harder it is to press send and move on. Finally, you mark the entire block of text, cutting and pasting it into a new post.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 11.49 am:_

_Look._

_I made this blog when I was drunk and I blame my friends for leaving me unsupervised. They should know better. No, I mean it, they really should. I didn’t mean for this blog to exist, and I was not planning on continuing it, I was gonna delete the whole thing, drink a bucket of coffee and pretend it didn’t happen while I ride out my hangover so I can go to work on Monday. But you know what, screw it. If I did this, then fuck it, I’ll keep it and I’m gonna say what everyone in my position wants to say but never does: It **sucks**  being here. You’re at the tail end of The Window and oblivion charging at you and you can’t move, can’t do anything but flap around and hope that significant other sees you._

_None of us agreed to this. No one gave us a choice. That TAC-box was pre-checked for us. Twenty-five years, yeah, that’s reasonable. Twenty-five, that’s when life begins. You got school all tied up, you have a job, you have your life together, you’re a goddamn adult._

_Fuck that. Yeah, sure, I’m 24. By all accounts, I am an adult, but here’s the thing. I have never met another 24-year-old who has said with any measure of honesty that they have their life together, soulmate or not. The law says we are adults and yeah, in theory we can be left unsupervised. Doesn’t mean we should be, though. Exhibit A right here._

_I think I had a point to this._

_Okay._

_I created this blog on a whim. A very drunken whim, but here we are. If I’m gonna be the only damn soulmate-less 24-year-old not sugarcoating my last 364 days for all the world to possibly see, then fine. You’ll have it all. Every idea, every last chance, every Hail Mary._

_Let’s find my goddamn soulmate._

_X_

Wanda has the audacity to smirk when you stomp out of your room and head straight to the cupboard for the largest mug you own. Glaring at her, you dump an obscene amount of sugar into the black liquid, grabbing the two slices of toast that rest in the toaster.

“Those are mine!”

“Yeah, well, so was my life before you convinced me to keep letting people read about it,” you growl back, parking on the couch.

“Excellent. When do we start?”

“Not now? Come on, can I have one day to recalibrate and adjust to the fact that I’m gonna do this.”

Wanda pops two new pieces of toast into the toaster, looking far too chipper for someone who did tequila the night before, “No, because tomorrow is Sunday and then you’ll tell me you can’t go out because of work. We start tonight.”

“That sounds like you have a plan,” you say between chews, pulling your knees up and crossing them. “Which is exactly one more than I have. Should I be worried, Maximoff?”

“Only if you’re worried about potentially meeting your soulmate,” she chirped back, and that smug expression means you definitely should be worried.

* * *

 

_“What’s with the face, what’s got you worried, Bucky?”_

_“I ain’t worried.”_

_“He said, worriedly.”_

_“Oh, haha, I’m dyin’ over here.”_

_“Yikes, the Brooklyn’s coming out, it’s gotta be b-“_

_“Fine! Jeez, you are a pain.”_

_“Pretty sure that was runner-up for my middle name. So, what gives?”_

_“It’s… quiet. Don’t look at me like that. It’s too quiet.”_

_“It’s probably nothing.”_

_“Yeah, an’ it could be someth- Fu-”_

* * *

 

“-ck off!”

“But baby!” The stench of stale beer waft from the drunk guy trying to dance you into a corner, grubby hands reaching for yours. “I swear, I feel it, we- we got a connection!”

The second his hand close around your wrist, you snap. Twisting and pulling your hand back, you use the momentum to lay a slap to his face before tossing your ice water in his face. He curses at you, wiping at his face while you sweep past him, flipping him off when he hurls one last “bitch" after you. It takes you a few minutes to find Wanda, and by the time she spots you and makes her way through the sea of bodies, your hands are shaking.

“You okay?” she hollers over the thudding music.

“Going home!” you call back, pointing to yourself.

Wanda looks like she is about to protest, convince you to stay a little while longer, but her eyes focus on your hands, and she nods. You don’t say anything about why, and she doesn’t prod. She pays for a pair of shitty burgers, lets you have the seat closest to the glass divider so she would be the only one sitting next to you on the subway, gives you a painkiller with water before you go to your room.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 3.08 am:_

_I swear I will at some point start post during daytime. Just needed to get this out._

_Maybe there are people who meet their soulmates at nightclubs. Eyes meet, they feel that spark or whatever, but I don’t think I’ll be one of them. My roommate, bless her, has dragged me to so many clubs this month, and the only thing I got for it was a screaming bank account and several insults. Don’t think that would be a top seller if they put it on a t-shirt by the way._

_What is it with people when they get drunk? I’m not your fucking soulmate, that’s alcohol and possibly your bladder you’re feeling. And I’m pretty sure if we were soulmates, you wouldn’t call me a bitch for defending myself when you, a virtual stranger, grab my wrist._

_So no, this is not it. This is not gonna work. Nightclubs are a bust._

_X_

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 3.12 am_

_God, how bad would it be if my soulmate actually was at any of the nightclubs I’ve been at, just not the nights I’ve been there._

_X_

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 3.15 am_

_Okay, I actually think I can live with that loss, because HOW DO THEY NOT GET TINNITUS???_

_X_

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 3.16 am_

_Doing something much quieter next month. Ugh. Night._

_X_

* * *

 

_“Good night.”_

_“Yeah, I heard you, Barnes._

_“Wasn’t talking to you.”_

_“Then who?”_

_“To… to my someone.”_


	2. April

“I mean, it’s better than going out every damn weekend,” you say, spearing a piece of pasta with your plastic fork.

“Saying it that way makes it sound like there’s something wrong with this approach.”

You can feel rather than see Wanda’s raised eyebrow, too busy scanning the crowd to pay proper attention. Lunch hour is only so long and she sure as hell isn’t your soulmate. God, that would have been easy, not to mention convenient. Walk into the dorm with an armful of boxes, clap eyes on each other, boom, set for life. But of course, life is never that easy, least of all when it comes to soulmates.

“I’m just saying, it’s not without its faults. We’re sitting on one bench, in one part of this park, in one part of one borough in all of New York, in all of the world. The odds that my soulmate is here are beyond slim.”

“So we switch places,” Wanda offers as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“What if it rains?” you counter, waving your fork at her.

“Window seat at restaurants.”

“What if they’re here but we end up missing each other?”

“Then I’ll rent you a damn helicopter and fly you over the city while you hang from a bungee cord and stare at people all across the five boroughs.”

“Classy, Wanda.”

“Always.“

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 5.17 pm:_

_So I’m still doing the same thing._

_Only in public, in the middle of the day, without alcohol and loud music._

_People-watching feels odd when you do it with a purpose. You are just… walking, doing your thing, while I’m over here on the bench trying to make eye contact to see if we are cosmically linked or whatever. Has anyone met their soulmate like this?_

_X_

_**Guest**  commented: Literally ran into mine at a Wal-Mart. Would’ve been superromantic if I hadn’t been out on a date (don’t ask why we were on a date at a Wal-Mart)_

_**SaltNPepper**  commented: Met my soulmate in the elevator up to a job interview. Turned out he was my boss. Not exactly people watching, but I was watching and he was people._

_**Soulmated** commented: first day of high school, first period. anything people talked about for A MONTH, i just wanted to pass calculus_

* * *

 

_“You’re kidding me.”_

_“Nope. First day of high school.”_

_“That’s like… wow, that’s a long time.”_

_“Way to make a guy feel old, Barnes.”_

_“Woulda been neat, though. Have the biggest part of your life sorted at 16.”_

_“Neat? What are you, 90?”_

_“Least I’m younger than you.”_

_“By two years!”_

_“Would you like to sit down grandpa, I think I can hear those joints creaking…”_

* * *

 

“I never should have asked,” you groan through bites of the cannoli you and Wanda have bought as a Friday treat.

“You’ve said that now for two weeks. Disable comments if they get to you!”

“What, no!”

Wanda delicately licks her fingers clean of cream and powdered sugar, peering at you over the rim of her sunglasses. “Are people still leaving comments about how they met their soulmate?”

“Yes,” you admit a little begrudgingly, looking out onto the street from the stairs you were sitting on.

“Disable. Comments. It’s simple as that.”

“But I don’t want to alienate people! I still want to hear from people, just… not about that.” Carefully, you balance the last morsel of cannoli shell between your thumb and index finger before tipping it into your mouth, continuing between chews: “Last night, I posted about maybe taking the weekend to myself and not do soulmate hunting, and I woke up today to ten comments about people meeting their soulmate during the weekend.”

“I know, I read your blog, silly.”

“Yeah, you and god knows how many others,” you mutter, wiping your mouth and crumpling up the tissue.

“What does the counter say?”

“5000 something this morning.”

Wanda lets out a low whistle. “I mean, it’s not individual visitors far as we know, but damn, that is still pretty good.”

“Yeah, now how do I make them stop rubbing it in my face that I haven’t met the love of my life? Is it too harsh to say I can do that fine all on my own?”

“Eh, maybe just a little. But I think you’re doomed no matter what you write. You’re actually writing about this, people are fascinated. We’re taught that this is just a fact of life, and we learn to take it in stride, to make the search part of our lives with the endgame that one day we will find our soulmate. They probably think they’re helping, giving you hope that you could meet yours in the most normal, boring way ever.”

You heave a sigh, looking out again over the people walking past. To be honest, you aren’t even sure what you’re looking for. Sure, people talk about how they met their soulmate, but they never really say what it feels like. They simply sigh and look at each other like the other person hung the moon. Will you be able to feel if they’re close by? Will you be drawn to a place? Or is it all up to chance? Could you walk past each other and miss out on that missing piece simply because you were too busy checking your Facebook feed?

* * *

 

_“You think you’ll ever meet your soulmate?”_

_“I dunno, man. I mean I hope so, but this ain’t exactly the best place to meet people.”_

_“But you could.”_

_“Sure. Would be a bit awkward if, you know…”_

_“Oh. Oh, man, yeah.”_

_“Why? You feeling your time running out?”_

_“…”_

_“Come on, you can’t punk out on me now.”_

_“A little, maybe. This is my one shot, you know? I’ll be here for the foreseeable future. And much as I’d like to have your optimism, I dunno… I don’t think they’re here. I feel like the day will come and this… connection will break and ‘m not sure how to feel about that._

_“For all I know, that’ll be me, too. We’ll get through it, okay? Til-”_

_“Okay, if you guys are done having a heart to heart moment, can we please focus?”_

* * *

 

“Wait, Brooklyn? You’re taking me to Brooklyn?” You skid to a stop once you see the subway entrance. “Wanda, no! We had a pact!”

“…that we made, while drunk, during sophomore year!” Wanda tugs at your arm, all but dragging you towards the stairs. “We’re not gonna get in trouble this time, I swear.”

“Yeah, and where were we when we made that pact?”

“We do not speak of that! Okay, look, we’re not going to that part of Brooklyn, we won’t run into you-know-who- Don’t! Say Voldemort,” she interrupts you, holding up a finger. “You know what I mean.”

“I didn’t realize there was any other part of Brooklyn worth visiting,” you mutter, swiping your card, glaring a little at the sign for the subway line you need to board.

“Okay, for your own safety, do not repeat that while we’re in Brooklyn, and for the love of god, do not even think that thought anywhere near Steve.”

“Steve? Who the hell is St- Jesus Christ, Wanda, are you setting me up on a blind date?”

“No, but remind me to do that.” Wanda twirls around to shoot you a mischievous grin, walking along the platform until she finds a good spot. “Steve is a friend, I’ve known him since I was like… twelve. He’s from Brooklyn, we met him at a- you know what, that’s unimportant. He’s from Brooklyn, I told him about your blog and he said if you’re still doing the people watching thing that we should swing by Prospect Park.”

“You told your friend about my blog?” you stutter, feeling your lungs constrict a little. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. There are obviously people who read it, but for some reason, having someone with a direct connection to you, to Wanda, reading it has your stomach twisted in knots, and you barely feel the draft of the train rushing past you.

“Yeah? He asked what was new with me, I told him about this, he was interested and asked if he could get the name of the blog.”

“Please tell me there won’t be a nut job named Steve jogging around Prospect Park looking to accidentally bump into us because he’s also soulmate-less and want to give it a shot?” you whisper to her once you were sitting down, the train moving again.

“You make him sound like a creep! And no, he’s not gonna show up, he’s overseas. Military guy, signed up straight out of high school. He just wanted to pitch in for your search, said Prospect Park was a good place.”

“He better be right, or I’ll have you call him to post bail for us.”

“For the last time, we’re not gonna get in trouble. Are you seeing any Long Island Ice Teas anywhere?”

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** posted at 11.23 am:_

_Have you ever made a pact only to find yourself breaking said pact years later and it feels like a bad idea, but somehow you still end up on a park bench in a part of town you swore you’d never go back to under pain of death?_

_Pray for me, people._

_Except you, person who made me make this pact in the first place. You can go choke on a cactus._

_X_

_**Guest**  commented: where are u and wat happened??_

_**SGRmed**  commented: Why send a cactus to do a fist’s job?_

_**Soulmated**  commented: Good luck!_

_Load 15 more comments_

“Are people still telling you how they met their soulmate?” Wanda asks, trying to look over your shoulder to see the comments posted.

“Nah, but one is encouraging fisticuffs,” you reply, smiling at the words before exiting out of the app.

“Wait, for finding your soulmate?”

“No, for dealing with you-know-who.”

“Who we won’t be seeing here.”

“Definitely not.”

“We’re safe.”

“Supersafe. Safe as houses. Although how can houses be safe, they get burgled and vandalized and struck by lightning and crushed by trees all the time?” you babble, crossing one leg over the other and fixing your gaze on a lone jogger following the trail towards you. “On the other hand I suppose nothing is really safe, so you might as well go with houses, right? Amirite? Wanda?”

When she doesn’t answer, you turn your gaze to her, finding her looking at a fixed point to your left. It looks like she’s seen a ghost, and for one terrifying second, you think the one person you are actively trying to avoid in all of Brooklyn, hell all of New York City, is here. Then Wanda tugs at your arm, and points in the direction she’s looking. Warily, you turn, finding what has her riveted to the spot.

Oh.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 1.12 pm:_

_So._

_It happened._

_Soulmate found_

_**Soulmated**  commented: CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!_

_**itwasalwaysmeanttobe**  commented: OMG OMG OMG_

_**Anonymouse**  commented: TELL US EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!_

_**SaltnPepper**  commented: I am so happy for you!_

_Load 25 more comments_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 2.43 pm_

_Shit, I accidentally posted before I was done writing and well, stuff happened._

_So, yes, soulmate was found. Just not mine._

_Figures that on the hunt for my soulmate, my roomie happens to find hers. It’s… I felt weird being there once I understood what had happened. Like… This was their moment. This was their click, and I was there like a moron looking around as if my soulmate would pop up just because my roomie’s had._

_I’m not sure what happens now. From what I can tell, the guy is great. British expat, a little odd, but he looked at my friend like she was the center of his universe. I’m happy, I really am, but it also feels a little like_

You keep looking at the last sentence. You’re happy. You truly are. Jarvis had been polite, a bit stiff in his demeanor, but it was undeniable that he and Wanda belonged together. Even so, you can’t help the sting in your heart, the little voice asking “but what about me?” It’s a ridiculous feeling, irrational because…

Because-

It’s irrational and you should know better, but you still ache for that moment to find you. Swallowing, you backspace and start the sentence anew.

_I’m happy for her, and it was an experience to be there for it._

_Well, it looks like I’m gonna have the place to myself tonight. Might as well go all out and bingewatch Netflix in my ugliest pajamas._

_X_

You post, signing out and turning off the notifications from the app on your phone. It hurts enough, you don’t need thirty people throwing you a pity party that will ultimately make you feel worse. Rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, you find a bag of microwave popcorn, browsing Netflix while it cooks. You shouldn’t have gone back to Brooklyn.

Or, you should’ve.

But you shouldn’t have.

_**Anonymous**  commented: I’m sorry_

_Load 100+ comments_


	3. May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you enough for your support, and I love seeing your guesses and speculations for what might happen, so keep 'em coming!

“Hi.”

“Peter.”

The man opposite you looks brusque, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, eyes already scanning down the row of tables. You can’t blame him. This is your third mixer this week and it feels like you have a stone permanently lodged in your stomach, growing heavier with each interaction.

“Nice to meet you.”

Peter grunts, glances at his watch. Oh, boy.

“So… this kinda sucks, huh?”

It’s a shot in the dark, and god, how you cheer when Peter’s eyes are immediately drawn back to you. You’ve found the statement is pretty much a hit and miss. There’s either the devoted participants, or the ones like Peter, who have probably been nagged into going. The man in question looks surreptitiously over his shoulders before leaning in a little closer.

“Tell me about it, I’m gonna need something stronger than whatever crap this is to get through the rest.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the girl at the next table glance at him with a look of disdain. Wow, that sure as hell wouldn’t go anywhere. You suppress a smirk, holding out your hand and offering your name.

“Peter. Wait, you know that already. Quill. Peter Quill.”

“Nice to meet you, Quill.”

“So, this your first rodeo?”

You look at the clock ticking in the middle of the table, just under two minutes left. Might as well talk, he seems interesting, and it sure as hell beats awkward silence. “Third this week.”

“Wow, that’s ambitious. Making the most of your time, huh?” Quill gives you a sly smile, and in any other situation, you might be inclined to slap him, but you’re not the only one here.

“In a manner of speaking. I’m keeping all my options open, you know. Can’t hurt, right? You?”

“Stepdad all but kicked me out and told me not to come home until this thing was over,” he shrugs, leaning in a little closer. “Do these things actually work? Like, have you ever seen anyone find their soulmate on one of these things?”

You play along, glancing surreptitiously around you before lowering your voice to a whisper.

“No, but this one girl at my last speed dating mixer said that a friend of her cousin’s brother-in-law met their soulmate while speed dating and they were married and had a kid on the way within three months.”

Quill’s eyes bulge. “Really?”

“No!”

Clocks go off, chairs scuffle against the floor. Quill shoots you a lopsided grin.

“Nicely played. If we’re still free after, how about drinks later?”

It takes you by surprise. You’re not in this for a date, you’re seaching for your soulmate, but… what’s the harm in having fun?

* * *

 

_“You sure?”_

_“Positive. I’ve been sitting and crouching so much, I can’t feel my ass anymore.”_

_“Come on, Barnes, it’s our first weekend off in I don’t even remember how long. Tell that skinny ass it can rest in, say, four hours and three beers.”_

_“No.”_

_“He’s got a point, Buck, come on, just one beer. One beer and then you can come back here.”_

_“Ooooh, he’s giving you the Look.”_

_“Yeah, and it’s the same look he’s been givin’ our whole damn lives. It’s not gonna work. My ass has gone into a coma, have fun without me.”_

_“Fine, don’t wait up for us, mom.”_

_“Make good choices.”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  replied to  **Soulmated** ’s comment: No, it was a bust. Again. Almost had a date, and then right on the homestretch he found her, people wept, there was cheap champagne. I snuck out and got a shitty pizza. Story of my life._

“Honey, I’m home!”

Wanda’s chirping voice sounds through the apartment, and for a split second, you are overcome with the need to hide the greasy pizza box and throw your robe on over your stained t-shirt and ratty shorts. Shaking, you pause the comedy special you had put on once you got home, and walk out to greet her. It doesn’t escape you that she looks happier, healthier than she’s ever done, and now you really wish you’d put on that robe.

“Thought you were spending the night with Jarvis,” you say, giving her an awkward one-armed hug.

“I was, but Vis got called in for an early meeting tomorrow, so I figured I’d let him get a good night’s sleep.”

“Because I absolutely needed that insinuation of what the two of you get up to when you’re alone. Really appreciate it.”

“Aww, poor baby. Speed dating fall through again?”

You reply by motioning to your outfit. “Oh no, he’s in there. Really gets going on pizza grease and outfits that should not be seen by anyone ever.”

“So another fruitless night, huh?” Wanda opens the fridge to get a bottle of water, following you while you return to your room.

“No, it was great. Didn’t meet my soulmate, but I talked to a guy, got asked out on a date,” you say, not looking back. Inside, you pick up the pizza box, slumping down onto the bed and unpausing the episode.

“That’s great. You know, just because you’re searching doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself.”

Wanda sits down beside you, toeing off her shoes and swinging her legs up on the mattress. You give a snort, taking a bite of your pizza.

“Yeah, no, it’s great. Really great. Super great, in fact, until he found his fucking soulmate on the last round.”

Saying it out loud brings on an unexpected wave of hurt. It’s not like you have been a dateless wonder up until now. You’ve dated, had a few relationships, all of them with the understanding that you weren’t each other’s soulmate and that if the One came along, there would be no hard feelings. It was a simple fact of life. Soulmate steps into your life and everything falls into place. Quill is not your soulmate, that much had been clear from the start, but god, he could have been someone for a night, for a while.

Wanda snakes an arm around your shoulders, pulls you closer and you watch the episode in silence.  _It’s okay,_  you tell yourself, breathing long and calm, _it’ll be okay._ Wanda’s phone pings off a few times, but she doesn’t check it until the episode ends and you stretch, sitting up to work out the crick in your neck.

“Oh, hey, you mind if I borrow your laptop so I can Skype? Steve’s apparently out and has internet.”

“Steve? Wait, your buddy in the army, Steve?” At Wanda’s nod, you crawl out of bed, grabbing the only remaining pizza slice. “Sure.”

“You don’t need to go, I bet he’d love to talk to you, too!”

You give a huff. “Not like this he’s not. I’ll be on the couch.”

Wanda makes no effort to go about her call quietly, her own way of saying she doesn’t care what you say. Steve’s voice crackles through over what has to be very weak wifi, and the picture apparently gives out a few times.

_“Hey, so where are you, did you move?”_

“No,” Wanda says, and you can feel her eyes on you. “Borrowing my friend’s laptop.”

_“The one with the blog? Is she supertiny or something?”_

“No, but she thought she’d give me some privacy. She’s on the couch.”

_“Not much privacy if you can see her.”_

“And you cared so much about that, Rogers.” They both laugh and Steve says something that is distorted by the shaky connection. “So, you okay? Where’s Grumpy?”

The line crackles again. _“He -n’t want to come out. Said his a- fe- -sleep._ ”

“What?”

_“He’s fine, said his ass fell asleep and he didn’t want to come out! And we’re all fine. Well, mostly fine. Hot as hell and twice as sandy. We should be able to scrape together enough leave to come home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, I think.”_

“So you gonna come home then?”

_“That’s the plan at least, but we’ll see. Need it cleared and it’s still a good ways away. Okay, next guy is glaring at me, I gotta go. Tell your friend I like her blog.”_

You give a groan. He still reads it. Great. An army dude who probably gets a bunch of laughs out of your failures.

“I think she heard you,” Wanda laughs. “Okay, take care. Tell Grumpy I said hi.”

The call ends with a crackly goodbye, Wanda looking pleased in a way you haven’t really seen before. It dawns on you that despite these six years, living together and seeing more of each other than two people probably should, there are still facets of Wanda that are hidden from you. You didn’t know about Steve until she told you about him. Even though there is a lot of teasing about her and Vis, she hasn’t been one to gossip, and you haven’t been one to pry.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 01.02 am_

_Sometimes I think about just how funny this soulmate business is. Out of all the weird things that happened to make this world what it is, we ended up with this… subliminal connection, wherein two people share a fate and have 25 years to find each other. Like… what are the odds? We could have no soulmates, just ambling our way through life, hoping that whoever we decide to share our life with is the right one._

_Would that be better?_

_Would you prefer not knowing, not having a ticking clock from the moment you’re born?_

_X_

_**Guest**  commented: i don’t know how i could ever feel sure. i mean dating is fine, but i like the idea that i’ll know when i’ve met my soulmate_

_**1-800-where-r-u**  commented: You know, sometimes that option is really damn tempting. Fuck you, soulmate clock, let me take my chances._

_**ScottFree**  commented: I like the idea. Finding each other can be a bit of an adventure though_

_**Anonymous**  commented: sometimes I think that would be kinder._

_Load 20+ comments_

* * *

 

_“Thought we told you not to wait up.”_

_“Shoot, and here I had the entire monologue from Mrs Weasley memorized and ready to go.”_

_“You and those books.”_

_“They’re classics!”_

_“Missed a call with Wanda.”_

_“Yeah? She surfaced from soulmate heaven?”_

_“Sorta. Visiting a friend. Said to tell you hi.”_

_“Hi. And hi.”_

_“What?”_

_“To her friend. Unlike you, I’m a fucking gentleman, Rogers.”_

* * *

 

“So I was thinking…”

You have barely sat down by the rickety kitchen table with a mug of coffee between your hands. Wanda, as always, looks too spry for it to be entirely legal or normal, and you can already tell this is gonna be a conversation that should not be had decaffeinated. You hold up a finger, giving a grunt and taking a sip from the mug. If you had known she would ambush you straight from morning, you would have taken the glass mug with indicators for when it was okay to speak to you.

By some miracle, she stays quiet long enough for you to finish the entire mug. The first jolts of the caffeine spark through your veins, and you stretch, lolling your head from side to side to work out any lingering cricks in your neck.

“Okay,” you finally says, leaning back on the chair. “You were thinking.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? Whoever your soulmate is better be ready to deal with your morning monster,” Wanda tells you with an eyeroll.

You give a shrug. “You want me to apologize for believing in the sacred gospel of Saint Hopper of Hawkins?”

“I never should have introduced you to Stranger Things…”

“So you keep saying. Now, you were thinking?”

Wanda’s demeanor changes on a dime. Suddenly, the wide smile falls into an uncomfortably pleasant one and she clasps her hands, interlacing her fingers. It all feels like you are sitting in the principal’s office, about to have the counselor explain how much trouble you’re in.

“Right. So, I was thinking… This whole thing with Vis was pretty sudden.” She looks down and gives a short laugh. “I mean, it really couldn’t have been anything else, but… I was thinking I could stay here? Like, still live here, pay rent, all that, at least until the end of the summer? It gives me and Vis time to figure things out, and you won’t have to carry the entire rent or find a new roomie on very short notice.”

It’s… not exactly the conversation you expected. To be honest, it isn’t something you have thought about much, too wrapped up in either work or the search. Sooner or later, the issue will have to be discussed obviously. Why live with a roommate when you have found your soulmate? It’s a reasonable proposal, you expect nothing less from Wanda. Finding a new roomie now would only end in weirdos with odd hours and questionable backgrounds looking for a place to shack up inbetween whatever strange stuff they are into. It’s logical to take time and vet people, Wanda is good at sniffing out the ones who should under no circumstances co-habit with another human being. Still…

“Look, I don’t need someone looking after me. I- The soulmate thing, I can do that and not crash and burn.” You play around with the mug, smiling at Wanda. “At least not too often.”

It pulls a smile from her in kind, and she reaches over to grasp your hand in hers. “It’s not pity, okay? And I know you can do this. This is just a reasonable solution, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you agree, enjoying the silence that falls between you, familiar and comfortable.

“Good, then it’s settled,” Wanda nods after a few seconds. “I can’t promise you it’ll be just you and me all the time…”

“You can bring Jarvis over, just put a sock on the door or something.”

“How college.”

“Hey, I do not want to walk out of my room in whatever horrible pajama abomination I fell asleep in and see him trudging naked through the apartment!” you protest, getting up and taking your mug to rinse it.

Wanda met out a noose of outrage. “It happened one time!”

“And I’m still scarred! Sock on the door, or you’re out on your ass by noon.”

“Fine. And you can, you know, do the same. Bring someone over, put a sock on the door…”

“If I bring someone home, it’ll be my soulmate, and that looks like it’s gonna take a while. If I keep bringing people home who are not my soulmate, then what the hell am I doing? I’m on a mission here, Maximoff. Socks will be for you and Vis.” 

“Wish you’d call him Vis,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Jarvis sounds old and uppity.”

You pretended to consider the request before answering. “Yeah, no, never gonna happen.”

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 9.42 am_

_I think my main fear in all of this is the change. Will the world be different, will I be different? Will I feel different if I don’t find them, will my life still become what it would become if I had a soulmate? There is so much uncertainty, and I don’t always deal with that too well. If nothing else, this year is as much about preparing for the unknown as it is to find that one person._

_Someone please tell me there is nothing to be afraid of, I am running on caffeine and half a saltine._

_X_

_P.S. I feel like I need to let you all know I am not on some crazy diet or flat out broke. Just haven’t had time to get to the food-part of this day yet. Mornings are for coffee and contemplation, even when the place around the corner serves the best brunch you’ll ever find._

_**SaltNPepper**  commented: Okay, but how did the speed dating go??_

_**1800-where-r-u**  commented: god I love you. Yes to all of this. Someone tell me to sit down and that I am spazzing out for nothing_

_**Anonymous** commented: Wish I could tell you, but I’m in the same boat, staring down oblivion. I hope nothing changes though._

_Load 50+ comments_


	4. June

“This… was the worst… idea… ever!”

Gasping for air, you stand bent over on the pavement, hands on your knees and your lungs aching and threatening to claw their way out of your chest. Your feet throb from the fancy new running shoes you had spent an absurd amount of money on and you’re pretty sure that if you wrung out your tights, you could create a small pond from the sweat. Wanda is panting similarly next to you, leaned up against the railing of your building. Her cheeks are red, sweat beading on her forehead, plastering fine whisps of her hair to her skin.

“This was your idea, remember?” she points out, pulling at her loose t-shirt to fan herself.

“Jeez, I assumed you would talk me out of it!” Holding one hand over your wildly beating heart and the other on your hip, you try to breathe deep and calm. “Do I look like I am in any sort of shape for this? Next time, convince me to do something that won’t feel like a continuous heart attack. Like yoga. Or meditation. Or death.”

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 9.47 am_

_Next time I get a bad idea, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stop me, because I apparently can’t trust my roommate to do so._

_X_

_P.S. Anyone got an extra set of lungs? Asking for a friend._

_**SGRmed**  commented: What did you guys do, run a marathon?_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  replied to  **SGRmed** ’s comment: It sure feels like it. I’m starting to wonder if the people who come into work walking funny on Mondays didn’t really have a great weekend of sex, they just ran laps until their legs wanted to chop themselves off._

_**Guest** commented: Training for the day your soulmate is a robber who needs to be caught?_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **Guest’** s comment: If they’re a robber, then I’ll be fucking soulmate-less, because if today was any indication, I’m not catching anyone._

_**LadyInRed**  commented: It gets easier, I promise. Around the fifth time your legs get the point and stop putting up resistance. Beat them into submission!_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **LadyInRed** ’s comment: I’m not gonna say it, I’m not gonna say it, I’m not gonna say it…_

_Load 20+ comments_

* * *

 

_“Did I tell you already that I think this plan sucks?”_

_“You did. An hour ago, then an hour before that and oh, yes, an hour before that! I could set my watch after you by now, Sarge.”_

_“Well, I couldn’t say it to Colonel Phillips’s face, that man is terrifying.”_

_“And you mean I’m not?”_

_“I have seen you scream at a scorpion, Wilson, you’re about as terrifying as the bunny my sister had when she was 8.”_

_“Bunnies can be terrifying, man, have you seen those teeth?”_

_“I have, and you know wha- Fuck! Rogers, five Tangos, three o’clock, copy.”_

_“Copy. Wilson, circle around. Barnes, hang tight.”_

_“Copy. And for the record, I still think this plan sucks.”_

* * *

 

“There’s too much,” you whine, rolling over dramatically on the couch to the point where you’re almost hanging off of it.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

Wanda barely spares you a glance where she stands in the kitchen, sprinkling spices into a pot that holds what will be dinner for her and Jarvis. You’ve met him a few more times since the Big Meeting, but prefer to leave Wanda and him alone when he comes over. Third-wheeling with soulmates when you are very much soulmate-less isn’t your idea of a fun time, and you have already tortured yourself with another run this morning.

“I need to find something! How damn hard can it be to find a fucking hobby in this city?”

Finally, Wanda looks up, shaking her head at the way you’re spread out. “Well, googling ‘hobbies in New York’ was probably a mistake.”

Squinting at her, you look at your phone and then back to Wanda. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head, you can’t have possibly seen that!”

“Oh, didn’t you know, I’m a mind reader.” She wiggles her slender fingers at you, making her eyes bulge before sticking out her tongue at you.

“Hilarious.”

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** posted at 11.52 am:_

_I need a hobby. Running is fine and dandy, you get around, see a lot of people, your muscles all collectively hate you for a couple of hours after, but I need something else. Something to meet people with. Something…_

_Something._

_Hit me with your best shot, I’ll see if I can give it a try._

_X_

_**SaltNPepper** commented: Volunteering?_

_**coffeeismysoulmate** commented: dog walking. guaranteed to get people to notice you and come up and talk to you. also other dogs, so win-win_

_**Soulmated** commented: Photography. Just imagine finding your soulmate and capturing the moment you guys meet!_

_Load 50+ comments_

“Okay, so that’s 15 votes for dog walking, 12 for writers workshop, 9 for photography and like… a lot of other stuff with three or four votes,” you declared, setting down the pen and notepad, closing down the browser window. “Is kite-flying actually a thing? Do they even exist anymore? Do we know anyone with a dog?”

Letting the latest post accumulate comments for two days only proves that there are a lot of things people do for a hobby, and compiling the top contenders had seemed like the best idea at the time. You should have anticipated that people would suggest things you are ill-prepared to do for one reason or another. You own no other camera than the one on your phone, the closest thing to a dog that you and Wanda have is a cheesy wall-mounted coat hook shaped like a dog’s butt and you weren’t even sure what nordic walking is, but seeing as you’re already torturing yourself with bi-weekly runs, you are not in a hurry to find out.

“Upstairs neighbours have a cat,” Wanda calls from her bedroom.

“Because in all of history, walking cats has been a resounding success,” you rebut, putting a question mark after the suggestion.

“It was a valid suggestion!”

“Someone is testy.” You set down the notepad, walking over to peek into Wanda’s room, finding her rooting through a heap of clothes on the floor. “What’s up?”

Heaving a sigh, she tips her head back, taking a deep breath. “I am taking Vis to see my parents.”

“That’s good, right? They’ve got to be happy for you?”

Wanda slumps forward, faceplanting right into the pile of dresses and jeans and tops, effectively silencing her long groan. You have met Wanda’s parents a few times, if only in passing. They were there when she moved in, smiling and carrying boxes, and they were there at graduation, clapping with tears in their eyes and hugging her tight, speaking in hushed voices in their native language. Finding your soulmate is cause for celebration, no matter what. Nine times out of ten it turns into something straight from a movie. Mothers cry, fathers hug, there is reminiscing about how parents met and it’s the one pretty much guaranteed time in your life where you feel like you’re in a fairytale.

“They’re happy, right?” you repeat, crouching next to your friend, lifting a lock of her long hair.

“Ugh, yes!” she groans, straightening and clutching at a grey shirt. “I just- I want it to be perfect, and I want them to like him, and I know they probably will, but-”

Wanda heaves a sigh, looks down at the shirt and thumbs gingerly along the hem, sniffling once. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. I’ll… I’ll find something to wear, and it’ll be fine. Right?”

She looks at you like you for sure know the answer, and you just nod. What else is there to do? Together, you gather her clothes, refold them, and you help her pick out a dress and a pair of shoes. She says nothing beyond a muted thank you, shows nothing but a shaky smile when you’re all done.

“Okay, well… “ You can’t remember a time when things have been awkward between you, not even first day of rooming together. “I’m… gonna go find a dog. To walk. For… science.”

There’s that frail smile again, and you shuffle off to your own room, feeling strangely empty. Something is off more than taking Jarvis to see her parents. You briefly wonder if this is what it feels like for Jedis when they say they feel a disturbance in the Force. Still, you feel you know Wanda well enough that if she wants to talk about it, she’ll come to you in her own time. Things’ll be fine.

* * *

 

_“We are not fine, I repeat we are not fine!”_

_“Where the hell did those guys come from?”_

_“Fuck if I know, there was nothing but fucking sand one moment and then they were there. Fuck!”_

_“Barnes? Barnes? Bucky!”_

_“Stay down, don’t… move… a muscle. Fuck, fuck, fuck…”_

_“Buck?”_

_“…”_

_“Barnes, you fucking copy now, or I will fucking salute your ass.”_

_“Salute me and I will shoot you, Wilson.”_

_“There he is.”_

_“Yeah, and you bozos are alive. Thank you, Bucky, mighty nice of you to take out the Tangos trying to sneak in. You’re welcome. Can we go home now?”_

* * *

 

_**Maria Hill**  commented: Hello, my name is Maria Hill and I’m an editor for New York Living. We’d like add your blog to our roster of lifestyle blogs featured on our website. If you’re interested, please get in touch. You can find my contact info on nyliving.com._

You had been staring at the comment for a good fifteen minutes, not able to fully grasp what it said. Your comments have been set to post only after you have moderated them, and coming across this between tips about hobbies for you to try was enough to shock you into silence. You know of the publication, have picked it up on occasion, it’s a pretty big deal. Having them ask to feature you on their website is…

“What’s up?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, finding Wanda deadbolting the door. She’s back to normal, the meeting with her parents a few days back having gone well from everything you’ve been able to surmise. It’s as if her little mood drop never happened, and so you haven’t pried further.

“Why do you look like a bomb went off somewhere?” She squints at you. “You’re sober, so you can’t have made another blog.”

“Oh, but you’re close,” you groan, turning the laptop and letting Wanda read the comment.

There are no pillow attacks this time, just a measured silence with crossed arms before she speaks: “Is it legit?”

You shrug your shoulders, taking the laptop back. “I have no idea, I haven’t contacted her.”

“New York Living. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“I know.”

“Could be someone pranking you,” Wanda points out, joining you on the couch, crossing her legs.

“I know.”

“But could also be legit, which means a pretty damn awesome opportunity.”

“I know!” You let your head fall back against the backrest of the couch, letting out a grunt and running your hands along the sides of your head. “The hell am I going to do?”

“Call her?” When you let out a whining noise, she rolls her eyes. “Email, then.”

“But that’s so impersonal! Ugh, I have to call her.” Bringing up a new tab to google Hill’s contact info, you tap her number into your phone. “God, this is gonna suck, I suck, what the hell am I doing-“

_“This is Hill.”_

Panic grips you, your eyes widening as you hear the voice on the other end of the line. Wanda is staring back at you, gesturing at you to get on with it.

_“Hello?”_

“H-hi.”

* * *

 

_“You look good.”_

_“You say that like you mean the exact opposite, Nat.”_

_“What can I say, I have a hard time accepting that my two moron friends both went into a battle zone a couple of days after graduation. Trust me, I’d say the same thing to Steve, I’m an equal opportunist shader like that.”_

_“Nice to know. So… you ok? You and…”_

_“Clint. Yeah, we’re good. He’s away on business, and it sucks. His dog is just as miserable as I am.”_

_“Yeah? That’s… nice.”_

_“Hey, you still have time.”_

_“Did Steve talk to you or am I that damn transparent?”_

_“You wear your heart on your sleeve, always have, Barnes. Hey, don’t make the face, you know I’m weak for the fa- Lucky! Lucky, get off the couch! Sorry, that’s- Shit, I need to go. You’ll be fine, Barnes.You’ll have leave coming up at some point before-”_

_“I’m not holding my breath, but thanks.”_

_“I’ll hold it for you. Now go be a hero, dork.”_

_“Ain’t no heroes around here. Just a bunch’a morons.”_

_“God help me, I miss you two."_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** posted at 11.58 am_

_So, exciting news._

_No, not that kind of exciting._

_I’m moving my blog over to New York Living’s online lifestyle section to become part of their roster of bloggers. All of my posts will be transferred once the blog is set up, and I’ll continue blogging same as before, doing weird stuff in the name of finding my soulmate before my 25th birthday._

_Only with better graphics and a slightly bigger reader base._

_Yikes._

_I’m meeting a freaking web designer tomorrow to go over layout and we’re aiming for a relaunch on July 1st. This feels way more professional than I ever thought this would be. I mean, I’ll still have my regular job, god knows I need the money. Anyway, I hope you guys will follow me there once the transfer is complete._

_X_


	5. July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart eyes for all of you are immense and eternal. Thank you so much for your continued support!

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** posted at 9.01 am:_

_God, I’ve had this post sitting here, ready to publish for an hour already._

_Hey, hi, hello.To those who are new here, the concept is fairly simple, the blogname kinda says it all. I hope you’ll enjoy whatever crazy stuff I do in the name of true love and eternal bonding. Feel free to browse through my escapades so far._

_To those of you who know me from before, welcome back. Nothing has changed, except I now have a big ass COUNTER IN THE SIDEBAR REMINDING ME OF HOW MANY DAYS I HAVE LEFT AS IF IT WAS POSSIBLE TO FORGET._

_(I was told it gave a nice dramatic effect)_

_(No shit, Sherlock)_

_Now, I don’t know about you guys, but I got roped into a company 4th July party. Thank god, it’s catered and I don’t need to do anything but show up, drink and have a good time. I can do that. I’m good at that. Some of my college course credits can vouch for it._

_X_

_**13ShadesofSharon** commented: Welcome to the blog family, X!_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **13ShadesofSharon** ’s comment: Thanks, glad to be here!_

_**NYLGuest** commented: wow what if ur soulm8 is reading this rn???_

_**Anonymous** commented: This is so dumb_

_**Anonymous** replied to  **Anonymous** ’s comment: How about you pipe down and go have a nap_

_**SaltNPepper** : Look at you getting all fancy with a blog makeover! Love the layout! So, what’s on the agenda for this month?_

_Load 25+ comments_

Staring at the comment from SaltNPepper, you wish you had a good answer. Truth be told, you are not sure what you’re doing this month. When you started out, you decided on a few activities, figuring you would come up with more as time went on. Now, time had gone on, and you have no idea what to do. It stings a little, making your fingers itch, worry brewing in the pit of your stomach. What if you fail?

Your phone beeps, an email from your team leader at work. Quickly, you close the NYL app that the very friendly web designer and tech wiz had set you up with, opening the message. Most of it is related to your current project, and you groan when you see the word “recalibrating”. You had hoped you wouldn’t see that particular word for at least a week. Beyond that, there are some updates, a rescheduled meeting, and then-

_“…I’m so sorry this slipped my mind, I hope you won’t be too angry with me, but back when sign-ups for the company bash was turned in, I put you down for a plus one. Never know what happens, right? It’s not a big deal if you come alone, just thought better safe than sorry. God, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!”_

You’re sure she means well, but… ugh. In the unlikely event that you’d find your soulmate before the 4th, you’re a hell of a lot more likely to skip out on the company party than bring your soulmate there for your possibly first public outing together.  _“Yeah, hi, we literally just found each other, but come on, let’s go hang out with a hundred of my co-workers, of which I only like a handful!”_  sounded like something that could possibly reverse the soulmate bond.

Not that anything could.

It’s one of those things everyone knows, that everyone feels, even those who have not yet found their soulmate. The mere thought of relinquishing the connection brings out a chill in people, attempting some way of breaking it is so heinous and hasn’t been heard of in over a century. 

You shake your head, heaving a sigh. It’s so easy to get ahead of yourself, to go from searching to hypotheticals to fantasies. It’d be a miracle if you found your soulmate in the next three days. Shit, you can already see the pitying look your co-workers will no doubt give you. You really need to stop going to these things.

* * *

 

_“Eating burgers and drinking cheap beer. Without a doubt.”_

_“Watching the fireworks.”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“Maybe? The hell you talking about, Barnes, what kind of heathen are you?”_

_“Jeez, I don’t know, maybe the fact that a backfiring car was enough to jolt me back when I went on leave last year has put me indefinitely out of the mood for fireworks.”_

_“You tell the colonel that?”_

_“Do I look stupid, Rogers?”_

_“I’m gonna exercise my right to shut the hell up.”_

_“Mark the calendar, Wilson, something miraculous just happened.”_

_“Okay, mister, what would you do then?”_

_“I don’t mind the burgers and the beer. I’ll take that. I’d find a real quiet place, maybe go upstate, my great grandparents used to live there, passed down the place to my ma. I’d park my ass in the backyard and look at the stars.”_

_“That sounds awfully lonely.”_

_“I don’t mind. I always used to end up getting dragged to some neighbourhood party before… all of this. Becca would probably do the same if I was home. Don’t think I could take too many people around me right now. God knows you are enough.”_

_“Hey!”_

* * *

 

“Wanda, I swear to god, I would quote the gospel of Saint Hopper to you, but I think my head would explode if I did.”

Giving a pitiful whine, you pull the covers over your head, diving back into the darkness where the sun doesn’t hurt your eyes and today doesn’t exist. Between the relentless thudding between your temples and the storm happening in your stomach, you were in no shape to take on any part of the world in this moment.

“What you just said is longer than the gospel of Saint Hopper,” Wanda points out, sitting down on your bed, making you wince and curl in tighter on yourself, “Which, by the way, I am not saying is a real thing. What the hell happened last night? Who the hell gets swag at a 4th July party? Why is there a rip-”

“Volume. Down.”

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Wanda pats the your head. “Will you talk if I get you a nice, big, hot cup of coffee?”

“I won’t kill you, how about that?”

You’re left alone at that, if only for a little while. Wanda returns far too soon, and the scent of black coffee penetrates your blanket fortress of solitude. Slowly, you extricate yourself, going slow and getting used to the light. All the while, Wanda smiles at you like you’re a sitcom happening right before her eyes. Giving only a grunt as thanks, you grab the mug, gulping down the first sips like it’s a panacea. Your fingertips twitch, caffeine restarting your systems, making you feel both better and worse at the same time.

“Will you now tell me why the hell there’s a rip in your shirt?” Wanda asks, holding up the item in question. “Did something happen.”

Looking at the shirt, you squint at it, dredging through your murky memory. Fireworks. Stain. Fuck. No, wait, not on yourself, on- 

“Oh, shit,” you moan, tipping your head down against your chest. “Fuck, fuck, fucking shit.”

“Something happened?” Wanda is immediately on alert. “Are you okay? Do I have to file charges against someone?”

“Fuck, I won’t be able to show my face at work!”

“Babe, what happened, you’re freaking me out!”

“I almost hooked up with Gabe from my project team and- fuck, oh, thank God. I would have actually done worse things to him, if he hadn’t accidentally stumbled so my shirt snagged on something and ripped and I spilled beer all over him.” A fist collides with your arm, sending the coffee in the mug sloshing dangerously. “Ow!”

“You need to stop doing that, I thought something worse had happened!”

“Oh, trust me, this is horrible! Gabe will not let me live this down, and we are still months away from wrapping up this project,” you protest, downing your coffee in gulps now like it was shots of pure vodka.

Wanda gets up, dropping the shirt to the floor. “You are a hot mess.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Fine.” She turns on her heel, looking over her shoulder. “I think I’ve found someone to take over my part of the rent.”

It works better than the coffee, jolting your awareness into gear. The subject of finding a new roomie has come up only in passing since Wanda first suggested waiting until after summer to move out permanently. There have been a few half-hearted attempts on your part at finding someone to take over Wanda’s room and share of the rent, looking through Craigslist and local newspapers. You suppose part of it has been denial, not wanting to come to terms with the fact that Wanda will move. It’s a ridiculous reaction, it’s not like your friendship with her will be over just because she moves. And yet, hearing her say she might have found someone shocks you.

“I’m sorry, what?” You roll out of bed, defying the headache that now feels like it should get a ping on the Richter scale, and follow Wanda into the living room. 

“Friend of a friend at work. She’s cool, not weird, needs a place pretty much asap. I know for a fact that she can pay the rent and I think you two could get along pretty well.”

“Saying she isn’t weird is gonna make me think she is weird.”

“Okay, so she tased a guy once, but he totally deserved it,” Wanda says, scribbling down something on a post-it. “This is her number, call her and talk to her.”

She presses the note onto your forehead, before heading for the door. “Vis invited me for brunch. There’s more coffee in the kitchen. Eat some bread, too. And call her!”

You wave her off, taking the note and looking at it.  _Darcy 917-555-1536_. She could at least have included Darcy’s last name, so you could have looked her up on Facebook like any other person most definitely would. Setting the note down, you amble into the kitchen, needing more caffeine in your system before taking on any kind of adult responsibilities. Appeasing Wanda, you have two slices of bread with the very strong coffee, grabbing the note on your way back to your room.

It takes you another hour and a half to get rid of the headache enough to feel able to sit upright and have a coherent conversation. Another hour passes while you ponder what to ask and what to say, and from the moment you tap Darcy’s number into your phone to actually pressing “Call” you take fifteen minutes to consider if this is really a good idea. The signal beeps in your ear. Maybe she won’t answer.

_“This is Darcy, please disregard the science noises.”_

“What? Darcy?”

Something crashes in the background.  _“Yeah, can you hold on for just a sec, I gotta get out of the blast zone."_

* * *

 

_“I swear to god, Wilson, if you sing Danger Zone one more time, I will shoot you my damn self.”_

_“You’re no fun, Sarge.”_

_“You’re right, I will absolutely crack jokes while we head out on a mission that has a success rate well below average.”_

_“Dude, do I need to call you a mede-wah-wah-waaah…”_

_“Loading my gun.”_

_“Knock it off, both of you.”_

_“Aye, aye, sir!”_

_“…”_

_“…”_

_“Highway to the Danger Zone…”_

_“Wilson, I swear to fucking god!”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** posted at 5.22 pm:_

_Sorry for the slight radio silence. Work has been kicking my ass, and I haven’t really had a lot of time to hunt for my soulmate._

_I have, however, gained a new roomie. Or I will._

_Since my current room mate found her soulmate back in April, this has been looming on the horizon. Come next month, she will move in with her lovely British expat soulmate, and I will get to preach the Gospel of Saint Hopper to a new hopeful. In preparation, we’re spending some time together. Testing the waters. Showing each other our good sides so we won’t immediately regret this decision._

_Anyhow, this is where soulmate-business come into play. New roomie’s idea of a fun evening is to go to a tarot reading._

_Yup, that’s right. A tarot reading. We’ve reached that stage of desperation already._

_Good lord, and it’s only July. May Madam whatever help me._

_X_

_**NYLGuest**  commented: give us the deets when you get back!_

_**CodenameMax** commented: Resorting to hail marys already?_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  replied to  **CodenameMax** ’s comment: It literally says it right there??? Plus, what’s the harm in mixing business with pleasure? I’m sure if you find a dictionary, it can explain the latter concept for you._

_**Anonymous**  commented: Wait, whats the Gospel of St Hopper???_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **Anonymous** ’s comment: Oh, my fine anonymous friend, you have clearly not seen Stranger Things_

_**coffeeismysoulmate**  replied to  **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** ’s comment: MORNINGS ARE FOR COFFEE AND CONTEMPLATION!!!1!! I KNEW YOU WERE AWESOME_

“What is this place? I thought tarot readers operated out of basement apartments with scarves and candles and incense.”

The building in front of you is quite the opposite of what you had expected. A pristine brownstone townhouse in Greenwich Village, with sash windows inset in the front door, a larger circular skylight just visible from where you stood. Darcy walks up the steps, knocking twice.

“Not this one. You know, you really shouldn’t assume so much.”

The door swings open, a stern-looking Chinese man greeting you both with a nod.

“Wong,” Darcy greets him with a small nod of her head, and you quickly followed suit.

“Welcome.” Wong’s eyes briefly flicker over to you before he returns to smile at Darcy. “Bringing a friend this time, huh?”

“Yup, looks like you were right… again.”

Wong lets out a laugh, motioning for you to follow him. Well, this was really not what you expected.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** posted at 8.11 pm:_

_So, two things._

_One: My roomie-to-be is actually… kinda awesome. Argues a lot. This will definitely be interesting._

_Two: I drew a big fat blank on the tarot reading. I asked about my soulmate, when will I meet them, will it be soon, the usual things I assume people would ask a tarot reader about soulmates. This guy starts pulling up cards, one after the other, then HUMMED AND SAID: “Oh, this is interesting.”_

_I got very excited. Turns out this guy has a different idea of what constitutes “interesting”._

_Because apparently_

_my soulmate_

_doesn’t want to be found._

_Awesome._

_X_

_**SaltNPepper** commented: What does that even mean????_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **SaltNPepper** ’s comment: Right???_

_**NYLGuest** commented: Seek a second opinion!!_

_**Anonymous** commented: well good riddance to that weirdo_

_**13ShadesofSharon** commented: Are you coming to the NYL mixer nxt week? I need to grill you on all the details!_

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	6. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my love for you for supporting this fic through kudos and comments and bookmarks!

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** _ _posted at 6.56 am_

_Here’s a fair warning to you all: August is gonna suck for me. Very hard. And most definitely not in any way that could be remotely fun._

_Without giving away too much (because confidentiality agreements and I enjoy the mystery), there is a metric fuckton going on at work, and I will be working ass over teakettle for the coming weeks. I will try to come up with something to do this month in the hunt for the big S, but most likely you’ll hear me moan a lot._

_(to be fair, after the_ _tarot reading_ _last month I don’t feel so bad)_

_(‘don’t wanna be found’ my ass)_

_(I do what I want)_

_X_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** _ _posted at 7.03 am_

_True to my word:_

_Whoever came up with the idea of a meeting this early deserves to wake up to lego pieces next to their bed in perpetuum._

_X_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** _ _posted at 7.05 am_

_Okay so I know who it is and I also know I’ll never be able to break into their house._

_But it’s the sentiment that counts._

_X_

Putting your phone away, you heave a sigh, mentally steeling yourself. This week is not gonna be great. Your team is working on the company’s next flagship, there are deadlines stacked on deadlines with seemingly new specs and changes coming in every day. You greet the security guard as you enter the building, taking the elevator to the the R&D floor, arriving just in time to take a seat before your team leader walks in. You make the mistake of looking up once, only to see Gabe looking at you, waggling his eyebrows when your eyes meet.

Great.

Note to self: don’t go to company functions anymore.

* * *

 

“ _Great, so we agree.”_

“ _I hate sand.”_

“ _Get in line, Anakin.”_

“ _Bite me, Wilson.”_

“ _I swear to god, I will drop both of you off right here with one MRE and half a canteen and you can walk back.”_

“ _Look what you did, you made mom angry.”_

“ _I’m pulling over now.”_

“ _Fine!”_

“ _Fine…”_

“ _…”_

“ _…”_

“ _I hate sand.”_

* * *

 

In the weeks that follow, you pull longer hours, which in combination with less sleep has you dragging yourself to and from work like a zombie. Any chance you get, you nap, and Darcy somehow learns to decode and translate your grunts into proper English. You’re surprised you haven’t yet fucked up anything at work, much as there have been plenty of chances and distractions. Gabe is still eyeing you like you’re dessert, far too often your mind wanders, and the last few days you’ve been feeling stressed about not having anything to post on your blog save for whining about work.

When, for once, you have a normal Friday, you’re already half-asleep trying to unlock the door. Jiggling the keys in the lock, you growl, letting your head thud against the door, eyes closing as if you’re a safe cracker listening for the click of the tumblers turning. Finally, the lock gives, and you swing the door open, followed immediately by a sharp impact to your left and an metallic explosion by your feet.

“Jesus Christ!”

Blinking, you look up to see Darcy standing by the couch, wide eyed and mouth open. It takes your mind a second to catch up, gaze dropping to the floor where quarters litter the floor, a scrap of paper resting on top of a small pile.

“You… threw quarters at me?” It sounds more like surprise and incredulity than outrage, your brows knitting together as you turn to look at Darcy again.

“How was I supposed to know you were gonna be home at a sane hour? I’ve barely seen you for two weeks!”

Her statement barely registers, your eyes flicking to the coins. “You… Why do you have that many quarters?” you repeat, crouching to pick up a fistful, mouth scrunching together in mirth. “What do you- Do you have a gambling addiction, Darce?”

“What? No! God, did you never take a self-defense class?”

You have, in fact, taken a self-defense class. With Wanda. Maybe a little hungover.

“Tasers and mace are no-go here, so I had to go old school. Roll of quarters in your fist and sock your attacker with it!”

You shake your cupped hand, the quarters clinking together. “Yeah, it’s…” You can barely keep your laughter at bay. “Worked out super great. Really knocked me off my feet.”

Darcy facepalms, sliding back down on the couch, legs in the air. “I panicked, okay!”

You can’t hold back your laughter anymore, too tired and exhausted to even bother pretending like you can be normal. Striding up to her, you drop the coins onto her before falling over the backrest, letting out an “oof” as you land.

“Next time you wanna throw money at me, at least make it dollar bills,” you wail, blood rushing to your head.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** _ _posted at 8.43 pm:_

_Nothing like coming home to a wild roll of quarters almost hitting you in the face and then almost passing out from orthostatic hypotension (ngl I googled that) because you were hanging upside down from the couch._

_Apparently, this is also how you end up getting me to agree to a blind date._

_On the upside, it’s not until next week, when I will have had time to sleep and regain a measure of sanity._

_On the downside, it’s a freaking blind date. Roomie swears it will be fun, it won’t be awkward, there will be a bunch of people there, she will just introduce me to this one person in particular._

_Cool explanation, still a blind date._

_Hopper help me._

_X_

_**BloggerAgent** _ _commented: at least now you know that quarters don’t work as well as bills when prompting someone to “make it rain”, right?_

_**1-800-where-are-u** _ _commented: Blinddate, huh? I have always hated that idea. Hope yours turn out okay tho_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **1-800-where-are-u**_ ’ _s comment: You and me both!_

_**EpicTopic** _ _commented: you ever thought about posting a pic of urself? Heard soulmates can find each other that way_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **EpicTopic**_ ’ _s comment: Sorry to say that is a hoax, my dude. You won’t be seeing my face anytime soon._

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“Can you relax for just a minute, you look like you have a stick up your butt!”

Darcy elbows you, glaring at you before giving you a once-over, adjusting your outfit a little. Another glance and she removes a bangle, pursing her lips before slipping it onto your left wrist. You feel no different, tense and nervous and agitated by stress and the realization that there is such a thing as too much coffee, even for you. Despite the promise of a calmer week, a deadline had been moved, effectively lighting a fire under your team’s ass.

“Darcy-“ you begin, squirming under her scrutinizing gaze, but the brunette doesn’t let you finish.

“No! Please, do not chicken out,” Darcy pleads, grabbing you by your shirt. “You have done nothing but worked for the past three weeks, I am surprised you even know what regular life is like anymore. I feel bad about the tarot reading, and I wanted us to hang out.”

“So you’re taking me on a blind date?” You cock an eyebrow, glancing at the door, pulse racing almost in time with the music inside.

“I… Yeah, fine, that was maybe not the best idea, but come on. You hang out with Wanda and you hang out with me. Meeting new people is good. Widen your horizons and whatnot. So what if he doesn’t turn out to be your soulmate, you’re still allowed to have fun and date and… you know, do other stuff until you find them.”

Biting your lip, you let your shoulders slump. She’s… maybe a little right. Even if this evening would become another story for the Great Soulmate Hunt, it’s still your night. It doesn’t have to be purposeful, doesn’t have to be a disappointment if it doesn’t pan out.

“He, huh?”

Darcy lights up like the sun, throwing her arms around you and positively buzzing up against you. “Yes, yes, yes! You’re gonna love this!”

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** _ _posted at 02.01 am_

_So, I had an epiphany. I think. Or at least a thought._

_I’m very stuck._

_For all that I’m trying to be open about new possibilities and doing new things in the hunt for my soulmate, I’m still so incredibly set in my ways. I lived with my former room mate for six years in total. She’s the only one I’ve stayed in proper contact with out of everyone I got to know in some capacity or other in college. We were basically joined at the hip, and when she found her soulmate and I was faced with the reality that she would eventually move out, I dragged my feet trying trying to find a new room mate, and she ended up finding that person for me._

_She is great by the way. Has thrown quarters at me, but really, she is great._

_I still haven’t changed. I mean, I have taken on this damn project, but it’s like my entire life is either about this or my work, and this month it seems it’s only been about work, and will likely continue to be about work. And that’s fine. I have to work, and I love what I do. And even though it’s infuriating and frustrating at times, doing my best to find whoever my soul is knit together with has it’s good days. But I gotta believe that there’s more to life than just those two things. I mean, maybe I’ll find them. But maybe I won’t. Maybe I won’t, and I’m not gonna lie, it scares me._

_So I went on a semi-blind date tonight. I went to a party where I didn’t know anyone, I met people, I was introduced to a guy. There was no soulmate-finding, but I had a good time. I wasn’t alone, I wasn’t clinging to my room mate all night. I’m meeting the dude for coffee whenever I resurface from work hell, I think. We’ll see. The concept of possibly instigating something that might be or might become dating with someone who isn’t The One feels weird. What do I do if I meet my soulmate at any point during this weird in-between, non-soulmate perhaps-dating stage?_

_It’s weird._

_Ugh, I can’t brain anymore today. Night, everyone._

_X_

_**Guest** _ _commented: Been there, done that. It was awkward as hell, but the girl understood. Even think she met her soulmate like a week later._

_**SGRmed** _ _commented: You are just full of deep thinky thoughts, aren’t you?_

_**13ShadesOfSharon** _ _commented: You are such a badass. I mean, I wanna hug you, but damn, you are a badass_

_**AgentBlogger** _ _commented: Yessss!!! Go hang out with blind date! Are they cute??_

_**NYLGuest** _ _commented: um why waste time on this person if theyre not ur soulm8?? not fair to them or to u_

_**Anonymous**_ _replied to_ _ **NYLGuest**_ ’ _s comment: Wow. Did you seriously miss the entire point here?_

_Load 50+ comments_

* * *

 

“ _Do you think some people are just… inherently stupid?”_

“ _Aw jeez, Buck!”_

“ _The hell, Barnes?”_

“ _I’m just sayin’, sometimes I think some people use 0% of their brain.”_

“ _I leave you alone for ten minutes…”_

“ _Wait, what is going on here?”_

“ _People are being stupid.”_

“ _Bucky, I swear to god, you promised me you would stay away from the comment sections. You wasted your internet time getting angry at strangers?”_

“ _No!”_

“ _Buck…”_

“ _I also sent an email to Becca- ow!”_

* * *

 

“Fuck, fuck, ow, fucking shit! Ow!”

Of all the days to pick style over function, you do it on the day you end up having to work overtime on an already tight post-work schedule. August was coming to an end, and through what you could only assume was a miracle, you and your team had not busted through any deadlines, even managing to meet a few of them ahead of time. Thinking you would have plenty of time to get from work to where you needed to be, of course the universe trips you up. Your feet ache as you race up the stairs from the subway, cheeks heating up as you try not to look at the time. Being late, even if it’s for a meeting with someone you had already met, has your heart beating a mile a minute, and when you finally catch sight of the coffee shop you had agreed to meet at, you finally slow down, breathing deep to force down some of the exertion and panic.

“I’m so, so sorry, I got caught up at work, and my phone ran out of battery in the middle of the day,” you apologize when you find him at a table, an espresso sitting before him.

Loki rises from his seat, pulling out your chair for you. “No matter, I was a few minutes late myself.”

Quirking an eyebrow at him, you shrug out of your blazer, letting him push the chair in behind you. “I don’t believe you, but thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

He tilts his head, much the same as he had done when you first met him. You had almost dug your heels in when Darcy had steered the two of you towards him. Tall, pale, dark hair that hung freely around his shoulders, he was the embodiment of the expression “too pretty for words”. Paying no mind to your attempts at derailing the evening, Darcy hauled you up to the guy, introduced him as Loki, _“cousin of my friend’s soulmate, and he knows what I’ll do if he misbehaves so don’t hesitate to tell on him.”_  All in all he was a pleasant enough guy, well-spoken, charming, making you forget yourself for a while. Numbers were exchanged, the occasional text sent until you could finally agree to meet up again.

“I hope work has treated you well?” he says, taking his own seat and taking a sip of his espresso.

“More or less.” You flag down a waitress, ordering a latte for yourself. “I really am sorry about being late, I should have realized I’d be punished for not wearing sensible shoes.”

“Yes, well, you do look stunning, and I truly do not mind.”

It takes a while for conversation to start flowing. The waitress brings you your latte and you spend the rest of the…  _date? meeting? hangout?_  nursing it so you’ll have something to busy yourself with when you don’t know what to say. Loki is perfectly polite, asking questions, though volunteering little intimate information about himself. You can’t deny he is easy on the eyes, brilliant eyes and sharp cheekbones framed beautifully by his inky black hair, and yet… it doesn’t… feel okay.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

You look up, cheeks heating up again when you realize he’s observing you. You’ve spent the past few minutes picking at the napkin, pulling little shreds of it and arranging them around your now empty cup.

“I’m sorry?”

Loki shifts, uncrossing his legs and then crossing them again. “That we’re not… it. It’s okay,” he adds when he notices your body tensing. “I feel it, too. Have been feeling it a lot lately.”

“You…You’re close?” you ask, trying to be delicate.

“Two months, three days,” he replies, not even flinching.

“Oh. Oh, I’m- God, I’m sorry.”

He does it again, the little head tilt, narrowing his eyes. “Whatever for?”

“Well, I’m… I’m wasting your time, aren’t I? You could be out there looking for your- for  _them_ , and instead you’re and I’m taking up your time.”

“I am, though? Maybe not looking the way you think, but I’m not locking myself away, lamenting my limited window of opportunity.”

Loki smiles at you, clearly amused by the look of confusion on your face. “See, my mother put it like this, you have a soulmate. That means you are indelibly connected. Whatever higher power intertwined your lives made sure your lives will somehow overlap. I think maybe the reason some people miss out on meeting their soulmate is because they at some point… give up.”

He folds his hands in his laps, twirling his thumbs.

“They don’t mean to,” he continues, and your heart skips a beat, “and it doesn’t feel like it to them. But my mother believed, and I believe that there are signs. Little hints. That everything that happens will eventually lead to your someone. I could have not come to that party, I could have decided not to meet you for coffee simply because you are not my soulmate, but what if these moments could have been the one where I met them? I can’t just focus on myself, on the little world around me, because somewhere out there, my soulmate is moving towards me and if I keep looking at my feet, I will never see them coming.”

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** _ _posted at 5.03 pm_

_I need to widen my horizons. Burst my bubble._

_Thanks, L._

_X_


	7. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!!! I am screaming and flailing! Your feedback means everything and it’s getting to the point where I wanna climb the roof of our house and just shout out everything that will happen. All in good time though.

“ _You sure you don’t mind?”_  
  
“ _Nah, you’re more of a Christmas guy than I’ll ever be. Haven’t been home in a while, so I think my family will be happy the sooner I take my leave.”_  
  
“ _You sure? Really sure?”_

“ _Jesus Christ, didn’t you hear him?”_  
  
“ _It’s not too late, you know, if you wanna switch, I’m good with whatever.”_  
  
“ _I don’t think he heard you, Barnes, you better say that again.”_  
  
“ _I swear on my sainted grandma’s grave, I am truly and wholly fine with my choice, and I do not need to ask the audience, call a friend or use any other kind of lifeline.”_  
  
“ _You’re hilarious.”_  
  
“ _And you’re relentless.”_

* * *

 

“Whaaaaatcha doing?”

Darcy’s voice interrupts your train of thought, causing you to almost push your laptop away from you. For someone so loud and boisterous, she has an uncanny knack for sneaking up on you when you least expect it. You haven’t told Darcy about your project, at least not in so many words, and so she doesn’t know about your blog.  
  
(or at least you hope so)  
  
(having one close friend who knows is more than enough)  
  
Slamming the laptop shut, you set it on the living room coffee table, scrambling for the remote control to turn on the tv. “Nothing! Just- nothing, it’s nothing!”  
  
“Jeez, were you watching porn or something? Because I’m not judging, just… if you’re gonna have alone time, please do it in your bedroom so we don’t have any awkward moments.”  
  
“Yeah, no, this is already awkward,” you wince, trying to force down the heat you can feel creeping up your cheeks.  
  
“Okay, so… I’m… gonna go pick up some groceries.” Darcy does a double point to the door, and in your mortification you realize she still thinks you were watching porn and is trying to give you your time. “Do you… need anything?”  
  
“I was not watching porn!”  
  
It comes out way louder than you meant to, and you wish the couch would just open up its great big maw and swallow you whole. Taking a deep breath, you screw your eyes shut hard for a few seconds before opening them again to look at your roommate.  
  
“I was not watching porn, you just caught me off guard. And I’m fine, I don’t- no, wait, pick me up a jar of cookie butter?”  
  
Darcy shakes her head, grabbing her purse, “If people knew just what a sucker you are for that goop, you’d be so damn easy to manipulate. You should thank me for being a nice, upstanding citizen with no ulterior motive whatsoever.”  
  
“Thank you, Darcy…”  
  
You’re way past arguing with her, and to be fair, she is right. If it wasn’t a confirmed fact that soulmates were always human, you are pretty sure cookie butter would be your true soulmate. Waving goodbye to Darce, you let out a breath before grabbing your laptop again and settling with your legs crossed. The screen flickers to life, and you tap to log in, squeezing your eyes shut as you press enter.  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 4.59 pm_  
  
 _To whoever came up with chat roulette: Great idea, but you failed to account for human stupidity._  
  
 _I am pretty sure I have seen more dicks in the last ten minutes than a urologist sees all week. I gotta ask, dudes: why???_  
  
 _X_  
  
 _ **Soulmated**_ _commented: Oh Jesus Christ YOU WENT ON CHAT ROULETTE??_  
  
 _ **NYLGuest**_ _commented: r u still on there?? do you use any tags??_  
  
 _ **AgentBlogger**_ _commented: “you really should get that looked at”. Works every single time._  
  
 _ **Anonymous**_ _commented: chat roulette is where common courtesy goes to die_  
  
 _Load 75+ comments_  
  
Looking at the anonymous comment, you can’t help but smile. Print that on a fucking billboard and broadcast it all over Times Square. Determined not to give up, you have continued doing short sessions, logging onto chat roulette and switching around as much as you can. It’s not a perfect solution – you have seen way more of the male anatomy than you had anticipated, and enough young kids to make you preemptively want to keep any possible future kids away from the hellsite – but it does give you a way to widen your horizon. You have waved at a business man in Lagos, learned basic Japanese greetings from a pharmacist in Kyoto, headbanged along to heavy metal with a bunch of long-haired rockers in Oulu. It’s produced nothing in the terms of getting you closer to finding your soulmate, but it’s a step.   
  
 _You are now connected with a stranger. Say hi!_  
  
The person you have connected with has their screen tilted to obscure their face, and you’re treated to a black shirt stretched over a rather impressive chest.  
  
 _Sender: hi_  

_You: Hi!_  

_Sender: wyf?_  

_You: What?_  

_Sender: Where are you from?_  

_You: NY_  

_Sender: yeah? me 2. whaddaya say, ur place or mine?_  
  
 _You have disconnected_  
  
 _You are now talking to a stranger. Say hi!_  
  
 _Your partner disconnected. Reconnecting…_  
  
 _You are now talking to a stranger. Say hi!_  
  
 _You: You should really get that looked at._  

_Sender: BITCH_   
  
_Your partner disconnected. Reconnecting…_

* * *

 

“ _Connect, damn it, connect!”_  
  
“ _Jamie!”_  
  
“ _Hi, ma.”_  
  
“ _God, you look horrible.”_  
  
“ _Gee, thanks, Becs.”_  
  
“ _I’m just saying. Cutting your hair did nothing for your face. You should sue the Army.”_  
  
“ _Hello pot, I’m kettle.”_  
  
“ _Stop it, you two! Jamie, baby, you look good. Are you okay?”_  
  
“ _I’m fine. I… I put in a request for leave so I could come home over Thanksgiving.”_  
  
“ _Jamie!”_  
  
“ _Ma, please, don’t cr- Becca, tell ma not to cry, I’m-”_  
  
“ _James Buchanan Barnes, I will damn well cry if I want to! Are you sure your leave will come through? It’s been so long since we saw you.”_  
  
“ _I mean, I hope so. I’m gonna need to take leave sooner or later. Wouldn’t miss your turkey for anythin’, you know that. Come hell or high water, I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.”_

* * *

 

“Took you long enough to get here.”  
  
Wanda hugs you tight, pulling you into the apartment. She looks… radiant. There’s no other way of putting it. Apparently, finding your soulmate comes with the extra perk of a glow-up. Or maybe that’s just the happiness and fulfillment. There’s no accusation in her voice though, just the same hint of mischief as always.  
  
“Yeah, well, two days of nonstop dicks made me desperate,” you joke, releasing her only to feel all blood drain from your face as Jarvis chooses that exact moment to step out of the kitchen. “For proper human interaction, I mean!”  
  
“I think I’m better off not asking,” he replies with a tilt of his head. “Coffee?”  
  
“Black, with all of your arsenic, please.”  
  
“Black, and please ignore her dramatics,” Wanda corrects you with a light shove.  
  
She herds you past Jarvis and shows you the apartment. Apparently, Vis is more than a little way off. Through the windows, you can spot Morningside Park behind the impressive silhouette of  the cathedral of Saint John the Divine. It’s a neighbourhood you could only dream of living in, and yet standing there, you can’t really see yourself in any of the impressive buildings surrounding you. You can’t even see yourself in this apartment. It’s light and open, minimalist interior and despite the touches of Wanda that you can see, it still feels cold. You hum and nod through the little tour, smiling when you spot the picture of the two of you from sophomore year spring break hanging on prominent display on the wall outside the bedroom.  
  
Jarvis has set down two cups of coffee for you on the living room coffee table when you return, a post-it note on each. Smirking, you read yours.  _Black, no arsenic, apologies from the kitchen._  Blowing on the steaming liquid, you take a sip. Even the coffee tastes fancy.  
  
“Where’d Jarvis go?” You cup the mug gingerly, sitting down on the sofa that was definitely not made by IKEA.  
  
“Oh, he probably excused himself. Wanted to give us some time alone,” Wanda explains, taking a gulp of her own coffee ( _Black, one sugar, one kiss_ the note reads). “It’s okay, we don’t need to be joined at the hip all the time. What’s up with you?”  
  
“Thought you read my blog.”  
  
“We both know you don’t share everything there. And I could have told you chat roulette would inevitably end in two days of non-stop dickage.”  
  
God, you miss having Wanda around in that moment. Darcy is great, and you know you could not have asked for a better roomie, but Wanda will always be Wanda.  
  
“I’m… okay. Darcy has only tried to incapacitate me once,” you start, setting down the mug again and grabbing a pillow. It’s an old habit, and you know your friend will see through it. Putting up a shield when you don’t want to feel vulnerable.  
  
“The quarters? That what that was about?”  
  
“She thought I was an intruder. Last month was mayhem at work, I pulled so much overtime I felt like I did nothing but stare at specs and take half-assed naps. I got home earlier than she expected and, well, there were quarters.”  
  
“But otherwise you and her are good?”  
  
“Yeah, she’s good. Set me up on a blind date, too. No magic, but we went on a date-ish.”  
  
Wanda lets her mouth fall open, face scrunching up in mock-indignation. “I thought I was the one who was gonna set you up on a blind date!”  
  
“Too late, you gotta find something else, Maximoff. Shoulda called dibs.”  
  
“Uh-huh, I’ll remember that for when I next have a brilliant idea. So, what’s really bothering you?”  
  
“Right now? The amount of dicks I’ve been seeing. That shit’s disturbing.”  
  
“Fine, internalize away. I’m not gonna poke.”  
  
You arch an eyebrow at her, scoffing. “Really?”  
  
“I won’t say a thing.”

* * *

 

“ _Don’t say it.”_  
  
“ _C’mon, man, you gotta admit-”_  
  
“ _I said, don’t… say it.”_  
  
“ _But it looks like-”_  
  
“ _Barnes, I have a knife and I know how to use it!”_  
  
“ _God, what’s got you in such a good mood?”_  
  
“ _Nothin’. Can’t a guy enjoy pissing off his friends?”_  
  
“ _Not with that creepy grin on your face, you can’t.”_  
  
“ _You’re a delight, Wilson.”_  
  
“ _Bite me, Barnes.”_  
  
“ _Don’t mind if I do, you look way tastier than this-”_  
  
“ _Steve, please tell your friend to stop.”_

* * *

 

_**13ShadesofSharon**_ _posted at 9.02 pm:_  
  
 _Hi everyone!_  
  
 _I hope you’re all having an amazing weekend, I sure am! After months of back-and-forth commenting, I was finally able to meet one of my favourite bloggers from NYL, namely_ _DesperatelySeekingSoulmate_ _! I have been CRAZY about their blog from the beginning, and may even have been just a liiiiittle nervous before this meeting because like Soulie, I am too waiting for my soulmate._  
  
 _For any hopefuls out there, we weren’t a match, but I had a ton of fun, and found a friend in Soulie for sure! The occasion was the NYL September blog mixer, which I already mentioned_ _here_ _. You can always count on a lot of fun at these, and it’s a good way to meet industry people and network. I’ll post some pics tomorrow!_  
  
 _Soulie told me about all the chat roulette adventures, and let me tell you, I could never be that brave. I mean, we all love_ _Steve Kardynal_ _, but there is no way I could put myself out there._  
  
 _Sharon_  
  
 _ **13ShadesofSHARSOME**_ _commented: SLAAAAAAAY_  
  
 _ **Anonymous**_ _commented: What’s Soulie like?????_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **Anonymous**_ ’ _s comment: Very boring. Wearing sun glasses to avoid seeing dicks everywhere._  
  
 _ **13ShadesofSharon**_ _replied to_ _ **Anonymous**_ ’ _s comment: A delight! And very cool-looking!_  
  
 _Load 100+ comments_  
  
You shake your head looking at Sharon’s comment. Going to the mixer had been a last minute choice, but Darcy would be out helping her friend “in the name of science and explodey stuff”, and you would have had a better chance winning the lottery than getting a hold of Wanda on a Friday night. Introducing yourself felt awkward, for months you have been nothing but a username and now there were people outside of Wanda who could put a face to that name. Keeping Loki’s words in mind, you had mingled, introduced yourself. Sharon had been the first to ask if you were who she thought you were, and you had to shush her and swear her to eternal secrecy.   
  
“You’re overselling me, Sharon,” you mutter, backtracking to your own blog.  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeeingSoulmate**_ _posted at 9.18 pm:_  
  
 _As some of you have probably read over at_ _13ShadesofSharon_ _, I attended the NYL September blog mixer. Not exactly part of my agenda this month, but I gotta admit, schmoozing around and eating my weight in_ _hors-d'œuvres and sipping on wine that cost more than $10 a bottle sure as hell beat another night of dicks and disconnects._  
  
 _Much as it put me out in the world, I think we can chalk this one up to another fail. I mean, I did get to chat with some very interesting people._  
  
 _But mostly_  
  
 _I saw dicks._  
  
 _That I did not ask for._  
  
 _X_  
  
 _ **Anonymous**_ _commented: Sound like you were intimidated by what you saw_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **Anonymous**_ ’ _s comment: Bold of you to assume I don’t have bigger balls than any I saw on there_  
  
 _ **BloggerAgent**_ _replied to_ _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ ’ _s comment: GO OFF!!!_  
  
 _Load 10 more replies_  
  
 _ **SaltNPepper**_ _commented: You are killing it! Still plenty of time left, and no doubt many ideas to try!_  
  
 _Load 75+ comments_


	8. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. GUYS. I am so, so, SO grateful to all of you for reading, commenting, screaming, kudosing, you name it. You make every hour of my days and I keep going back to reread them if I ever feel even a little down. Enjoy chapter 8.

_“She keeps asking me if there’s anythin’ special I want.”  
_

_“And what did you tell her?”_

_“That I didn’t mind, because I figured ‘park me in front of the table and have a giant truck dump everything in my great big maw’ wasn’t an appropriate answer.”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 5.44 am_

_So we’re going old school this month. We’re going older than old school and straight into old wives’ tales._

_Dream interpretation._

_Because I can absolutely put my thoughts down coherently at the asscrack of dawn._

_Supposedly your dreams carry clues about your soulmate, and the best time to tap into these is during… you guessed it, a full moon! The next full moon is at the end of this month, so it’s a little ways away. Until then, watch me warm up to the concept and try to make sense of my batshit crazy dreams._

_X_

You want to say that it’s a well-thought out plan that you have just been waiting to pull out of the hat, but truthfully, you are grabbing at straws. Googling “how to find your soulmate” has turned up results that are either ones you have already done or that are bordering on the ridiculous. Dream interpretation had seemed like the least ridiculous alternative. The full moon is three weeks away and you’re still prepared to go, an empty notebook and a pen already on your bedside table. Can’t hurt to test it out a few times, even if it’s not supposed to lead you to your soulmate yet. At least work is busy again, so falling asleep won’t be a problem.

With that in mind, you leave a hastily scrawled post-it note for Darcy on the kitchen table about possibly being home late tonight. Deadlines are fast approaching again and everyone working in the R&D department are losing their minds, you included. There’s still so much fine-tuning that needs to be done for the new model and apparently not enough hours in the day and staff on hand to get shit done.

You keep thinking about the dream you had while you ride the subway to work, trying to dredge up as many details as you can. Something about a party. Not a birthday, there was no cake, but silly hats, and… a rocking chair- no, a hammock. Opening an empty note on your phone, you type down every detail you can remember, saving it just as the train rolls into your station.

_**SaltNPepper** commented: that is so exciting, I should start doing that just to make some sense of my dreams!_

_**1-800-where-r-u**  commented: i mean, I’m not gonna lie, that is way out there, but at least you’re still trying, eh?_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **1-800-where-r-u** ’s comment: Trying being the operative word here. I checked what my dream this night meant and it makes zero sense._

_Load 100+ comments_

* * *

 

_“I swear when we get back, I am going to lay down and do some meditating, this shit is hell on my nerves.”_

_“Easy, Wilson, you might get lost inside that big head of yours.”_

_“Man, shut the hell up! Steve-“_

_“Steve!”_

* * *

 

“Hey, you okay?”

You look up to see your project supervisor looking at you with a frown on her face. She’s a sweet girl, a few years younger than you, sharp as a tack, and you know it’s useless to try to gloss over it. You know very well that you have been acting absent, taking longer to finish tasks.

“Sorry, I…” You shake your head, blinking and taking a deep breath. “Long hours and little sleep. Sorry.”

“Try going to bed earlier?” It’s a playful suggestion, an undertone of worry that floats just under the humour.

“It’s not that. Trust me, I’ve been in bed by ten most nights the past two weeks. It’s- I’ve just had some… really weird dreams.”

“Nightmares?”

“God, no! Haven’t had those in a while. They’re just really weird dreams.” You bite your lip, hesitating before continuing. “I’ve been keeping this dream journal, and nothing about these dreams makes sense.”

“Because dreams are weird and unpredictable. That’s why I stay with hard science. Always makes sense,” your supervisor smirks, handing you a new set of directives. “Chin up. This is the homestretch, okay? Just this week and then we’ve got this baby in the bag and ready for phase three.”

“I’ve heard of this mysterious phase three,” you say, peering at her. “Some say it’s just a myth.”

She plays along, leaning in close and looking around before lowering her voice to a whisper, “I’ve heard that after phase three there is supposed to be something called phase four, and get this, once it hits phase four, it won’t be our problem anymore. But if anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

* * *

 

_“- copy.”_

_“Negative, repeat, interference cut you off.”_

_“Several Tangos incoming, keep sharp, copy.”_

_“Copy, Rogers. You heard?”_

_“Copy. Got eyes on targets.”_

_“Pick them off, I’ll cover for the team.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, because they’re helpless without us.”_

* * *

 

“Yeah?”

Lying halfway off the couch, you hope like hell that your phone didn’t get a crack from flying out of your hand. Getting a call while you were holding it had thrown you off, which in turn lead to you throwing the phone and then diving after it to answer.

_“Okay, should I be worried about you?”_

With a grunt, you hoist yourself back up into the couch, slouching down against the cushions. “Hi, Wanda, I’m good, thanks for asking.”

_“What the fuck kind of kooky dreams are you having?”_  she demands, ignoring your pointed greeting to her.

“Your guess is as good as mine. It’s all disaster and foreboding and the only disaster on my horizon is myself and I’ve been plenty aware of that for the last fifteen to twenty years.”

_“I don’t need to tell you that there is credibility to dream interpretation, right? Maybe people don’t find their soulmates through it, but there are plenty of studies that talk about the importance of dream and how our subconscious processes input during deep sleep in the form of dreams.”_

“I swear to god, the tooth fairy and Saint Hopper that I’m fine, Wanda.” You try to reach for the remote with your foot, attempting to get a grip on it only for it to fall to the floor with a loud clank. “Shit!”

_“What? What happened?”_  Her voice goes just a little shrill, and you can almost see the distressed expression on her face.

“I dropped the remote. Christ, you are jumpy! I swear I’m fine. I’m not in any kind of trouble, I don’t have the mob after me, I’m not gonna go skydiving or bungy jumping anytime soon, I won’t be exposed to any deadly diseases or get any limb stuck in any kind of machinery.”

_“Fine. And you better not be getting any ideas, because I will come after you.”_

“And you will find me and kill me,” you mutter, using your foot to send the remote sliding towards you, picking it up and turning on the tv. What do you know,  _Taken_ is actually on.

_“This is why you give me trust issues, because I can’t tell if you’re being serious or just facetious.”_

“Take your pick. Anything else I can help you with?”

_“Yes, you can come with me for brunch tomorrow to make up for making me worry,”_  Wanda responds, sounding more than a little smug.

“Yes, mom… 10 am, usual place?”

_**DesperateSeekingSoulmate**  posted at 2.21 pm_

_I just had to promise my friend not to go do anything stupid for the foreseeable future, all because of these dreams. This from the girl who started a fight with a bunch of frat guys on a drunken pub crawl in Brooklyn and landed us in the drunk tank for the night. To be fair, I was the one who said we should go to Brooklyn. And who insisted we make Long Island Ice Tea our bitch._

_Still, what a shame, here I had such a packed schedule with parasailing, vigilantism and human shield on the agenda._

_X_

_**AgentBlogger**  commented: Oh, no, however will we make do without you??_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **AgentBlogger** ’s comment: Stiff upper lip, I’ll be back to my daredevil ways in no time!_

_**Soulmated** commented: wait, so that is the reason you made the Brooklyn pact??_

_**coffeeismysoulmate** commented: but doing stupid stuff is so much fun!_

_**Anonymous** commented: pfft as if u could stop even a pickpocket_

_**13ShadesofSharon** commented: !!!!!_

It’s easy to joke, but in reality, you are maybe a smidge unsettled by your dreams. They’re never outright terrifying, but you always wake up with a sense that something isn’t right. They have persisted ever since you started journalling, and even the most pleasant dreams turn into omens and warnings when you look up what details mean. You try to tell yourself it could mean anything, be in reference of anything, even a minor inconvenience. You meant it when you told Wanda you are not intending to do anything dangerous. Hell, you’re not even sure you could find something dangerous in your life at this point.

As the days draw nearer for the full moon, you try to find reasons in the bizarre. It’s just stress, phase two is finally wrapping up. It’s Halloween soon, you’re getting carried away by all the decor and tv spots for horror marathons. It’s just an old wives’ tale. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you.

* * *

_“Well that was easy.”_

_“I hate it when you say that.”_

_“Will you relax, Sarge. Rogers, tell your buddy here to grow a sense of humour.”_

_“Can’t grow anythin’ in barren soil, Corporal.”_

_“Come say that to my face, punk.”_

_“Back at base, jerk. Now get the hell off the comms, or I’ll-”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 10.09 pm_

_Gather round, people, because we’re getting there! Full moon’s tomorrow, and I don’t know about you, but I am_

_not hopeful._

_Seriously. I’ve been tracking my dreams, whenever I can remember what it’s been about for the past three weeks, you know, to establish a baseline for how reliable this method is. Psychology, subconscious, and all that. According to my dreams I should be living a fucking action movie. Have I seen any action? No. Do I entertain any notion of getting to see any action, explosive or otherwise? Hell no._

_I’m not saying I’m giving up. I’ll see this through because I’m not a quitter. This month is just a low point with a very unreliable way of connecting._

_Hit me with your predictions, what do you think I’ll dream about tomorrow night? Another omen of doom or something that won’t make me question my sanity._

_X_

_**NYLGuest** commented: booze_

_**Soulmated** commented: ooh, what if you dreamed of where your soulmate is???_

_**Anonymous** commented: labyrinths?_

_**AgentBlogger** commented: I mean, I hope you dream something badass._

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to  **AgentBlogger** ’s comment: I mean, I’d like that very much. Where do I file a formal request?_

_**SaltNPepper** commented: Sweet dreams!!_

_**coffeeismysoulmate** commented: puppies and rainbows_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** replied to **coffeeismysoulmate** ’s comment: Here’s a fun fact: seeing a litter of puppies in your dream is apparently an indicator of how long it has taken or will take for an idea to develop, while rainbows represent hope and luck. Either way, I’ll take both please and thank you._

_“You nervous?”_

Wanda has decided she needs to check in on you one final time. It’s sweet, but it does little to calm you down. Talking about it makes into A Big Deal, and you have been nursing a very small hope that if you didn’t, you wouldn’t read too much into whatever dream would come your way.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been feeling off…”

_“Are you okay?”_  Wanda sounds worried and you wonder if she’s ever shown this much concern for you ever in the course of your friendship.

“I’m not gonna turn into a freaking werewolf! God, I can’t even joke with you anymore,” you mutter, laying it on thick and pouting even though she is not there to see it. “It’s one dream, one night out of many. I’ll be fine.”

_“I’m sorry, kneejerk reaction.”_

“I know. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Jamming your phone between your cheek and your shoulders, you pad into the bathroom to brush your teeth. “Not like it’s gonna work anyway.”

_“In this case, I’m inclined to agree. Doesn’t mean your streak of dreams doesn’t make my psych sense tingle.”_

“Ah beck yu a hwenhy hey’ll ue gong ay ngeht ueek!”

_“I’m sorry, what?”_

Putting down the phone, you spit out the foam and rinse your mouth. “I said, I bet you twenty they’ll be gone by next week,” you repeat, picking up your phone again. “It’ll all be because I made a big deal out of it and because it’s Halloween next week. Whatever I dream about tonight won’t mean anything.”

_“If you say so… Call me tomorrow, okay? Let me know you survived or whatever.”_

“Goodnight.”

* * *

 

_“Cover! Cover now!”_

_“I got it!”_

_“Fuck, I gotta- For fuck’s sake, cover! Does anyone have eyes on-”_

* * *

 

It’s far from a good night’s sleep.

You feel like you spend half the night tossing and turning, getting tangled in the covers, refluffing your pillow every five minutes. When you finally fall asleep, it’s out of sheer exhaustion, and you drop straight into a darkness that is both numbing and absolutely frightening. Reaching, you can’t see anything in front of you, not a horizon, not your arms, nothing.

_Help_

It rings through your head, and you don’t know if it’s your own desperate plea or if there is someone else in the darkness with you. A suffocating pressure finally pulls you out of the dream, sending you tumbling to the floor, your covers a mess around your body. It’s your first nightmare in you can’t even remember how long, but it’s here, it’s a tightness in your chest, a hammering heartbeat and clapping your hands before your mouth to keep the scream back.

* * *

_“This is SSG Rogers, calling for immediate evac. Four casualties, two critically injured, both surgical. Hostiles neutralized but may still be in the area, I repeat, hostiles may still be in the area. We will to pull back to safe area and signal our position with panels.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: yes, making Steve an SSG (staff sergeant) is deliberate on my part. I tried googling how long it would take someone to become an army captain in the conventional way (i.e without Stark’s Beefinator), and the results were varying and slightly confusing, but the long and short of it is that Steve would need more years in the army to become a captain than he would have at this point, hence he carries the rank of Staff Sergeant here. Bucky still holds his canon rank of Sergeant.


	9. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ya’ll. YA’LL. Y A ‘ L L. I have been squealing like crazy over your feedback for the previous chapter, and I am SO happy to finally have that one out because having to sit on that for weeks? Not fun.

“You owe me 20 bucks.”  
  
You plop down in the chair opposite Wanda, a smug smile on your lips, picking up the menu to peruse it.  
  
“Excuse me?”

Her hair is a shade darker, you note, framing her face in soft curls, eyebrows knit together in confusion. It feels like forever since you’ve seen her, spoken properly with her. There is definitely something to say for face to face interaction over texts and calls.

“The weird dreams. Poof. I distinctly remember betting you twenty, two-zero, dollars that they would disappear within a week of the full moon. Pony up.”  
  
Wanda arches an eyebrow at you, “Okay, one, I distinctly remember not accepting that bet in any way, shape or form. Two, how do I know you’re telling the truth?”  
  
“I have documentation,” you shrug, eyes  sweeping over the specials as the waiter approaches you. “I did keep a very detailed dream journal.”  
  
“Which you could have easily forged!”  
  
It’s loud enough that the waiter can’t possibly ignore it. To his credit, he does his best to pretend he did, clearing his throat and asking for your orders. Wanda tries to tell him it’s not what it sounds like before snapping her mouth shut and gritting out her order. You, on the other hand, grin widely, giving your order and lacing your fingers together over the folded menu.  
  
“You’re in a good mood,” Wanda notes, folding her hands in her lap, giving you her best shrink-look.  
  
“I suppose I am…”  
  
“Care to tell me why?”  
  
Stretching in your seat, you let out a contented sigh, giving Wanda the brightest smile ever. She stiffens in her seat and leans forward, “Oh. My. God.  _Have you found them?_ ”  
  
You shake out of your bliss, regarding Wanda with no small amount of incredulity, “What, no! Don’t you think I would have mentioned that on the blog, or, I don’t know, called you and shrieked for like five minutes straight?”  
  
“Fine, then what gives?”  
  
“Wrapped up the main part of the project,” you reply, singing the the last two words. “We’ve officially moved on to phase three, and the fire is no longer under our asses. It’s like a head rush, I’m telling you. Colours are brighter, the air is crisper…”  
  
“Your sass levels need balancing,” Wanda adds with a smirk, prompting you to stick your tongue out at her.  
  
“I refuse to let you piss on my good mood. I am free and I am gonna enjoy life before the next nightmare brainchild of that company comes along.”

* * *

 

“ _Ma, maybe you shouldn’t-”_

“ _No.”_  
  
“ _Ma, he’s-”_  
  
“ _No, I’m staying with Jamie.”_  
  
“ _Please, he’s- He’ll still be here tomorrow. Come on, let’s go home.”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _posted at 10.23 am_  
  
 _Excuse ant typos, I’m on a wuick break._  
  
 _So after lasy month’s less than successful venture, I am gonestly not sure waht to do, but I’m finally coming off the worst part of a huge porject, so I’ll hve time to explore options._  
  
 _Ok gotta go_  
  
 _X_  
  
 _ **AgentBlogger**_ _commented: My, my, my, texting while working. What lax kind of company are you working for?_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **AgentBlogger**_ ’ _s comment: One where I’m either up to my neck in work or able to take a five minute break to go grab a coffee that actually doesn’t taste like battery acid. There is no inbetween. (though really I don’t want there to be, my job is kind of amazing)_  
  
 _ **Anonymous**_ _replied to_ _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ ’ _s comment: what IS your job?_  
  
 _ **NYLGuest**_ _commented: I am trying to come up with something, you know, give a helpful suggestion, but I am all out of ideas_  
  
 _ **Soulmated**_ _commented: Maybe take a break this month?_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **Soulmated**_ ’ _s comment: No rest for the wicked. Yet._  
  
“So how likely do you think it would be for me to get away with getting locked in here after hours?”  
  
Darcy walks along the aisles of Strand, fingers reverently dragging along the spines of the books stacked neatly on their shelves. It’s a simple pleasure for you, walking among the shelves and letting your eyes wander over titles. Most of the times, you don’t walk out with any purchases. Half the fun is simply in being there, the promise of adventures and knowledge pouring from the miles of shelves.  
  
“I mean, you could try,” you muse, pulling out a biography that captures your attention. “The guy who got locked in that Waterstones in London didn’t even try and he got to spend a night there.”  
  
Darcy gives a hum, smiling dreamily up at the ceiling, “Yeah, that’d be the dream.”  
  
Shaking your head, you veer off, leaving your roomie to dream and peruse. Darcy is looking for something specific, whereas you are just browsing. If something were to catch your eye, you certainly wouldn’t argue with your inner book goblin. You pass the shelves holding fiction, gliding into the non-fiction area, looking at biographies, recipe collections, textbooks. They’re all interesting in their own way, just not enough that you’d want to bring them home.  
  
That is, until your eyes land on a bright cover, and you do a double take.  _That one._ You need a plan.

* * *

 

“ _Mr. Barnes, I understand this is… a very hard situation to come to terms with, and I want you to know nothing is happening right away. All the same, I would like to discuss what will happen, if that is all right with you. Mr. Barnes? Sergeant?”_  
  
“ _Bucky.”_  
  
“ _Pardon?”_  
  
“ _Don’t call me ‘mr. Barnes’. And ‘s not like I’mma be going back to the Army anymore, so you can drop the sergeant back with- Just call me Bucky.”_  
  
“ _I see. Well, Bucky… are you up to have this discussion with me?”_  
  
“ _I ain’t got anywhere else to be.”_  
  
“ _Like I said, nothing is happening right now. You still need to heal, both from the stress of losing your arm and from the other injuries you sustained. In about two months, your limb will be fitted with something called a shrink sock that will counteract swelling. At this time you will also be meeting with prosthesist. We have an excellent cooperation agreement with a reputable company, and they will help you from that moment with anything related to the technical aspects.”_  
  
“ _Sure. They’ll fix me right up.”_  
  
“ _Mr. Bar- Bucky. Your life has changed, there is no denying that. What happened was tragic, and you are allowed to - should - grieve. It is another part of healing. But this… this isn’t the end. Granted, we can’t slap a bandaid on you and send you back into battle, but we can and we will help you get back to a life that can be remarkably normal in time.”_  
  
“ _That’s the thing, doc. I’ve never been all that good with normal.”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** _ _posted at 2.33 pm:_

_I have a plan._

_Or, I have a plan and I need a plan to make the plan a reality._

_Stay tuned._

_X_  
  
 _ **SaltNPepper**_ _commented: Color me intrigued, what’s up?_  
  
 _ **AgentBlogger**_ _commented: Need backup? Someone to run interference? Can I punch someone?_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **AgentBlogger**_ ’ _s comment: Maybe. Possibly. No._  
  
 _ **Anonymous**_ _commented: r u breaking in2 the nsa???_  
  
 _Load 50+ comments_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _posted at 4.02 pm_  
  
 _I should go into the secret service, because hot damn, this was the smoothest operation in my life. Not even joking._  
  
 _What, pray tell, is the last resort of the truly desperate? The epitomy of last ditch effort? The Hail Mary of Hail Marys?_  
  
 _It’s this:_  
  
 _A self-help book._  
  
 _Some people hide porn mags under their mattresses. I hide a self-help book called “Calling Them Home - Taming the Unbreakable Bond”. Lord help me._  
  
 _X_  
  
 _ **Soulmated**_ _commented: Oh, man, I have seen that! And the ads running on tv every single night. I’m telling you, that ad knows when you’re alone._  
  
 _ **13ShadesofSharon**_ _commented: My, my, Soulie, you are full of surprises!_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **13ShadesofSharon**_ ’ _s comment: I live to serve, my good 13._  
  
 _ **SGRmed**_ _commented: I mean, if nothing else, it’s probably good kindle?_  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _replied to_ _ **SGRmed**_ ’ _s comment: Only if I want to be hunted down and taken out by the New York Public Library’s highly trained librarian assassins. I’m pretty sure their judgment registered on some sort of scale when I checked out the book._  
  
 _Load 75+ comments_  
  
“Um, hi?”  
  
You can’t see her, or much else for that matter, but you still know the door is not nearly open enough. With a grunt, you hoist the large cardboard box to secure your grip on it, trying to peek around the side.  
  
“You know it’s me, can you please move aside so I can get it and set this thing down?”  
  
There’s a shuffle and then the unmistakable sound of the door swinging open, and you barge right in. If there’s any upside to Wanda and Jarvis’s apartment, it’s that the minimalist design makes the odds of running into something or toppling something very low. Your fingers ache and scream, making you speed up until you barely spot the couch ahead, all but tossing the heavy box onto it.  
  
“Wanna explain why you hauled this all the way here?” Wanda comes up next to you, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
You flex your fingers, shaking your hand to work out the lingering pain. “I was getting rid of some stuff, and… you know, I though I’d come by, see if you… wanted any of it before I dump it all at Goodwill?”  
  
Poking the box open, Wanda peers inside, quirking an eyebrow and picking up a lamp. “And you were struck by this need to do a spring cleaning in November why exactly? This one should burn in hell, by the way.”  
  
Scowling at her, you grab the lamp, shoving it back into the box. “It… seemed like a good idea. I’ll just end up with more stuff, might as well, you know… and it’s Thanksgiving soon-”  
  
“Which has nothing to do with throwing away stuff whatsoever.”  
  
“Fine! It’s the book, okay! The book, the stupid self-help book, it said you need to cleanse your space and make room for your soulmate otherwise they will not feel as compelled to insert themselves in your life!”  
  
Wanda gives a triumphant smile, plopping down on the couch with one arm resting casually on the back rest. “That was all I wanted to hear.”  
  
Sinking down on the other side of the box, you let your head fall back, “I hate that book.”  
  
“Yeah, you really must hate it if you’re following the advice in it.”  
  
“But that’s it! I am doing all of that… that bullshit!” You raise your head, looking at Wanda over the box. “I am like a zenned up suburban mom, fucking breathing warmth and openness into my space and decluttering it so my soulmate will sense I making space for them in my goddamn mess of a life! I am one sage-bundle away from going full Stepford! What is wrong with me?”  
  
She laughs. Of course she does. Of course she does, because objectively, this is kind of hilarious. Not just this isolated incident, but the entire thing, you realize. All of these tricks you’ve tried, some more perhaps reliable than others, and all it’s gotten you is a big fat nothing. You’re four months away from missing out, and what are you doing? Hauling a big ass box of stuff you should have gotten rid of years ago across Manhattan. Cupping your hands in front of your face, you try to stifle your own laughs, but soon enough, you’re breaking down in peals and snorts. Wanda pulls you off the couch, and together you lift down the box and go through it, reminiscing over each little part of your life that you’ve decided you can let go of. Coasters from college pub crawls, the hideous lamp that you really ought to burn in a dumpster fire somewhere, shirts you haven’t worn in ages. Each speck of your life brings a memory, a time when life seemed a lot simpler than you now know it to be. It feels… strangely okay to let go of everything, no matter what pushed you into doing so.  
  
“Where’s Jarvis? I fully expected him to be here and judge me for every single thing in this box,” you ask when everything is once again packed away.  
  
“Vis wouldn’t do that,” Wanda replies, meeting your pointed gaze with one of her own. “And he’s stuck at O’Hare. Flight got delayed so he’ll be home tomorrow.”  
  
“That sucks… At least it’s now and not next week, huh?”  
  
“Yeah, no, he is grounded until Thanksgiving. We’re… We’re spending it with my parents.” She smiles, soft and quick, looking down and smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear. “He doesn’t have much by way of family here, and well, my parents love him.”  
  
“I’m glad you have him.”  
  
“What about you? Going home?” she asks, drawing in a breath through her nose and looking back up at you.  
  
“I’ll have to, or else my grandmother might disown me. It’ll be good. Food, football, more food. What’s not to love?”  
  
In the other room, the sound of a Skype call goes off. “I better get that.”  
  
“Might be Jarvis,” you nod, getting up and starting the process of hoisting the box back in your arms.  
  
Wanda whips around halfway to the room. “Oh, you don’t need to go, it’ll probably be a just a minute.”  
  
“Nah, I gotta get moving anyway. Goodwill is calling and so is my bed.”  
  
“Hold that thought!” There’s a beat of silence while she clicks to connect the call. “Well, this is a surprise.”  
  
“If he’s booty calling you nude from an airport restroom, I don’t want to know!” you holler, heading for the door.”  
  
“No, that’s the former roomie. Hey! Hey, whe- What did I tell you about holding that thought?”  
  
With a little strain you turn to look over your shoulder, quickly whirling around when you see Wanda’s holding her laptop. “My hands were full!”  
  
“It’s not Vis, and you need to get your mind out of the gutter,” she explains, turning the laptop so the camera faces you. “Steve, say hi to my soulmate-hunting former roomie. You, put down the box and say hi.”  
  
“ _Hi.”_  
  
The voice is crackly, though you recognize the voice from the Skype call back in May. Behind the box, you roll your eyes.  
  
“No offense, Steve, but you have already seen more of me than anyone else who’s reading my mess of a blog, so this is what you get. For all intents and purposes, I am a box with legs.”  
  
“‘ _s nice meeting you, Box With Legs.”_  
  
“I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were raised by heathens,” Wanda mutters, following you to the door to open it for you. “Call me, okay?”  
  
“I will,” you promise.  
  
“Brace yourself, Steve, you’re about to become the middle of a Wanda-box-sandwich,” she tells her friend, mushing the two of you together with the laptop squished awkwardly between you.  
  
“ _I am averting my eyes!”_  
  
Free of the hug, you finally step out, hearing Wanda ask where Grumpy is as the door closes behind you.  
  
 _ **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**_ _posted at 8.39 pm:_  
  
 _I never expected it to work, so I have no reason to be disappointed. I’m not, I think. I think I’ve forgotten what true disappointment feels like._  
  
 _Anyway, my soulmate is as elusive as ever, but at least I got rid of a boxful of crap last week._  
  
 _I’m going home for Thanksgiving, so if you don’t hear from me in the next few days, or indeed the rest of the month, it’s because I will be either accosted by relatives, watching football, in a food coma or being accosted by relatives while I watch football in a food coma._  
  
 _Happy early Turkey Day, everyone!_  
  
 _X_  
  
 _Load 100+ comments_

* * *

 

“ _I’m thankful… for having Jamie home again.”_  

 “ _Ma…”_  
  
“ _You could have died out there, and you- And we got you back home.”_  
  
“ _Most of him…”_  
  
“ _Becca!”_  
  
“ _Good one, Becs.”_  
  
“ _Jamie? Wanna say somethin’?”_  
  
“ _I guess… I’m thankful… for bein’ home. Mostly intact. Mostly… mostly alive. Mostly kickin’.”_  
  
“ _Okay, let’s eat before Ma starts cryin’ again.”_  
  
“ _Becca! And Jamie, manners!”_  
  
“ _Yes, ma…”_


	10. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys just keep drowning me in praise, and I am not sure I will be able to handle anymore. Thank you so much for your continued support, your theories, your enthusiasm and just… every kind word you throw my way. Enjoy chapter 10, my loves.

_“So, how do you feel?”  
_

_“Okay.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“Yup.”_

_“Hmm.”_

* * *

 

“Why are we celebrating Christmas again?” you groan, wanting to crumple the list you have made of everything you need to do before going home.

“You want the crass, the cultural or the commercial answer?” Darcy rebutts, pouring cereal into a bowl and eating it with her hands.

With a thunk, you let your head fall to the table. “I’ll take crass for 300, Alex. No, wait, make it 600 and destroy my spirit completely.”

You can hear Darcy sit down opposite you, each crunchy chew making your nerves fray a little. She has been in a good mood the past few days, getting a break from the science and instead being able to focus on  applying for jobs where her pol sci-degree will be of more use.

“Christmas has become a consumer holiday, in which we have been conditioned to think our worth and happiness is dependent on how much we receive as well as a twisted system of checks and balances in which we also need to give but not too much but also enough that we feel like we have achieved better,” she rattles off, and you slowly raise your head to look at her in disbelief, “all while corporations make an assload of money and the department stores start playing Christmas carols earlier and earlier until we all go insane and dtab each other to death with sharpened candy canes.”

“Wow.”

Darcy tips another handful of cereal into her mouth. “I know, right?”

“I actually didn’t think you’d answer seriously. My Christmas cheer just prematurely died and turned to coal.”

“You told me to be crass!”

“Yeah, but not enough to actually make me lose hope in the institution of Christmas as a whole!” you counter, looking over your list again. “I need to nix something, I can’t get everything done.”

Darcy shrugs, happily munching her cereal while you scowl at her. Surely, that has to be illegal somewhere.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 9.06 am_

_Friends, strangers, possible aliens in disguise: I’m gonna need a break._

_It’s not you, it’s me and my inability to halfass this entire ridiculous month. I’ve been at this for nine months now, I need a breather. I’m sure my soulmate will understand._

_I’ll see you next year. Please don’t stab each other with candy canes while I’m gone._

_X_

_Load 125+ comments_

* * *

 

_“How are you?”_

_“Don’t.”_

_“What?”_

_“It’s all people ask me. I have shrinks an_ _d doctors and my ma and my sister asking me the same question every goddamn day, I don’t need it from you, too.”_

_“I didn’t mean it like that. It was entirely rhetorical. I don’t shrink friends. Makes for troublesome friendships.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“So… I was kind of a jerk?_

_“No more than usual.”_

_“It’s… hard, you know? I’m supposed to process and handle this and come to terms and all I can think about are those… those moments after. No pain, just… god, I saw him lying there, looking like… and my arm, it was-“_

_“Bucky…”_

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I-”_

_“Talk to them. Talk to your therapist, to someone who is a better fit for this than I am. It doesn’t have to be all of it, just something, okay?”_

_“I’ll try. I dunno if… if I can.”_

_“You’re the bravest man I know, Grumpy.”_

* * *

“Dude, you’re going in there?”

Darcy looks at the crowded entrance, a mess of people pushing and shoving to get in while far fewer struggle to push themselves through and out. You have put this off for as long as possible, but you’re leaving for home tomorrow, and you still need one Christmas gift. Taking a deep breath, you exhale through your nose, rolling your shoulders.

“No other way, Darce. The key to a holiday without too many pointed questions is in there, and I’m gonna get it.”

“God, if only it was that easy at Casa Lewis,” Darcy mutters, cupping her hands and blowing into them to warm up.

“Tough crowd?” You glanced over at your roommate, surprised to see her with an unusually blank expression on her face.

“ _Why are you not employed, Darcy?_ ” You have never seen Darcy’s parents, nor heard her talk about them before, but you can recognize a mom voice when you hear it. “ _Look at your sister, honey, you could take after her. You gotta get out there more, Darcy, you’re 23 already!_ ”

“Damn.”

“It’s as if everything is riding on me, and it sucks.” She gives a humourless chuckle. “I should just get myself a big bottle of scotch to open as soon as I step foot inside.”

“Why don’t you save it, huh? I could come back for New Years, you could tell your family you have a thing in the city, get your ass back one, maybe two days before if things get bad. Then the two of us can watch the ball drop and get drunk on scotch, or as I like to call it, Ash Juice.”

Darcy gives a snort, rocking on the balls of her feet, “I could do that. Ball drop and ash juice.”

“And if I don’t survive this,” you say and nod towards the department store, “then I fully expect you to cremate me and put my ashes in ash juice. Make ash juice squared.”

“I will pray for you and make offerings in your name to please the gods of crazed holiday shopping.”

* * *

_“I forgot how much I hate Manhattan this time of year.”_

_“Shit, I didn’t- we can go back if you want. There’s plenty of places in Br-”_

_“Jeez, Becs, no. I still need to be here.”_

_“Right. Appointment.”_

_“You don’t have to come along. You can go home, and I’ll follow when I’m done.”_

_“And risk ma chewing me out for leaving you?”_

_“She’ll never realize I’m 24, will she?”_

_“I’m pretty sure you deaged the moment you got home. It’s the-”_

_“What?”_

_“Nothing, I shouldn’t- It’s nothing. Stupid.”_

_“Becca, come on.”_

_“It feels weird, okay? I… I feel like I can’t, or like I shouldn’t make jokes because what happened was horrible, but I don’t know how to act instead, and I want to do the right thing and say the right things.”_

_“I can’t promise it’ll work every day, and I’m not gonna lie, being here makes my skin crawl, but I could do with someone who isn’t treating me like a spectacle, asking questions I have no answer to and expecting stuff of me that I don’t know that I can manage now. So let it rip.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“Bring it.”_

_“It’s the arm.”_

_“I figured as  much.”_

_“It takes at least a decade off of you.”_

_“Feel better?”_

_“A lot. You?”_

_“Always, Forge.”_

_“I knew there was a reason you were always Gred.”_

* * *

“Is it weird?”

You roll over on you bed, resting your phone against your ear and reaching to turn off the bedside lamp. It’s become a Christmas tradition for you and Wanda, a phone call the night of Christmas Eve because the rest of the holiday would pull you into a vortex of relatives, dinners and craziness. Granted, you had felt hesitant about calling this time. Even if Wanda had already celebrated Hannukah at the beginning of the month and taken Jarvis to celebrate with her and her family, you still feel awkward about interrupting her time with Jarvis.

_“Does it feel weird?”_ Wanda retorts, and something rustles in the background.

“I… I don’t know. Loki didn’t seem to mind having so little time left, told me he wouldn’t put his life on pause just because his time was running out,” you sigh, turning to pull the curtains and shut out the Christmas lights outside your window.

_“Loki, wait, that was blind date guy, right?”_

You hum in affirmation. There had been no further dates with Loki after the meeting at the coffee shop. A few texts had followed, lighthearted suggestions to meet again, and then… nothing more. Not that you mind, not really. He isn’t your soulmate, and even though he made it clear that he’d take whatever chance to be out in the world to possibly meet his soulmate, you don’t want to hold him up.

“Yeah, that’s… that was him.”

_“Hey, it’s okay to feel your clock. And I know it’s fifty shades of hypocritical of me to say so, but not finding your soulmate isn’t the end of the world. You’ll still have a good life.”_

“Just not as good as it could have been.”

There it is. The uncertainty, the primary fear that had followed you for the past ten months. For a while you were able to ignore it, get wrapped up in whatever trick you were trying that month, but now more than ever does it make itself known. What if you don’t find them? Objectively, you know Wanda is right. You won’t drop dead the day after your birthday if you haven’t found your soulmate by then. You won’t be harmed, won’t lose colours, won’t be any different, won’t be any worse off. Except, what if? There won’t be any flashes to show what life with a your soulmate would be like, but if this is how the world works, then doesn’t that mean that not finding them makes life a little… less?

_“You don’t know that,”_  Wanda tries, and for the first time since she found Jarvis, anger rises in your chest at the thought.

“And you don’t know that it will be,” you shoot back, bitterness lacing your words, running sharply through you.

Silence. Fuck.

_“I know I don’t. None of us do. I just- I am trying to be a friend and not a shrink, and as your friend, I don’t know what to say.”_

“And as a shrink?”

_“It wouldn’t be a good idea,”_ she admits, her voice warm,  _“I’m your friend first, always your friend first. I don’t know that I could stay professional and disregard all the stuff I know about you. What I will say is that it’s all up to you. If you want to stop, I won’t fight you. If I woke up tomorrow and found you had deleted the blog, I’d respect that. And if you want to continue, I’m here for that, too, all the way to your 25th, no matter what happens.”_

Smiling, you curl up a little tighter. “Thanks. I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

_“Pfft, you call that being a jerk?”_

“Well, I tried.” You hear Jarvis softly call in the background. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

_“God help us both.”_

“Merry Christmas, Wanda. Tell Jarvis I said hi.”

_“Merry Christmas. Remember, I’m here. Whatever you do.”_

You say goodbye, and get ready for bed. It’s a different feeling than when you were young; the excitement has died down. You no longer camp out at the top of the stairs to sit vigil in hopes of catching Santa, stomach full of butterflies and way too many cookies. The innocence has morphed into a quiet kind of resilience. Just get through this weekend. Survive. Smile. You can smell the Christmas ham cooking in the oven, but it does little to take your mind off things. Should you continue or not?

Teeth brushed, you change into your pajama, crawling in under your covers. Your fingers itch to check the blog, as if it could make your decision for you. Finally, you turn the damn thing off. Maybe you’ll turn it back on tomorrow, to take pictures and send Darcy a Merry Christmas text, but for now, you are better off being cut off from everyone. Well, almost everyone.

“I don’t know who you are,” you begin, keeping your voice low, “or where you are. I don’t… I don’t know if we’ll ever find each other, I’ve only got just over two months left until it’s too late, and… I’m scared. I don’t know if you’re scared, maybe you’re not. Or maybe that’s why you don’t wanna be found, because you’re so, so scared. It’s okay, I- I don’t mind. I’m not expecting you to actually get any of this. I think we’ve already established that a psychic connection between soulmates isn’t all it’s cracked up to be…” You let out a dry huff of a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever talked to you before. Sorry. I should have done this earlier. I’ve tried to find you. If… If we- If I blow it in March, please know that I have tried. And I really wanted to meet you. So… yeah. I don’t know if you celebrate Christmas, I don’t wanna be inconsiderate or anything so… Goodnight.”

* * *

_“Goodnight.”_

 


	11. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just about had a fit with the response for last chapter. If I could bake you all cookies and make the appear in front of you by magic, I would in a heartbeat. Thank you so much for continuing to show your support and screaming at me and everything else. Enjoy chapter 11!

“Uurrghh.”

“Mmph.”

The new year starts off… better than you had expected, even if you and Darcy spend most of the day communicating in a language only the truly hungover understand. The bottle of scotch is still only half empty, but the half you consumed between the two of you was more than enough to put you out of commission with a side of vow of silence. While New Years Day would usually be spent curing a hangover much kinder than this one with leftovers, a choice selection of hair of the dog and a neverending stream of b-movies and ghosts of tv shows past, silence rules this one. It’s nice, in a way. It really is. Once you disregard the spin cycle in your stomach, the dubstep party in your head and the constant exhaustion from even the smallest action.

At one point, you and Darcy both fall asleep on the couch, each claiming an end of it with your legs tangling in the middle under a shared blanket.

“Let’s… let’s never do this again,” Darcy whispers, voice slurring. “I will- will curse that abominable piss water.” She motions weakly with her hand in the general direction of the bottle.

“If you cremate me and put me into that, I will haunt you for the rest of your days and then fight you in the afterlife,” you mumble, already half asleep.

“Dude… I don’t hate you.”

* * *

 

_“I hate it.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Itches like a motherf-”_

_“Jamie!”_

_“-fricker.”_

_“Look at you, cleaning up that sailor mouth.”_

_“Shut up, Becca.”_

_“Jamie, I swear to God-”_

_“Ma, please.”_

_“I did not hunt down uncle Buchanan for the keys to this place just to listen to you two squabbling already on the first day of the new year. Behave.”_

_“Ha!”_

_“Both of you!”_

* * *

 

“I refuse to believe it.”

Wanda pulled her hair back into messy ponytail, peering at the way you were resting your face in your hands, slowly massaging your temples while you were looking at the menu.

“I swear on my life, I am still hungover.”

“It was a week ago!”

You scrunch up your face, “Hence the incredible-factor. That scotch was something else. I am pretty sure if any god from any religion had a sip, they’d be hammered in five minutes.”

“Even Dionysus?” Wanda smiles, flagging down the waitress that had seated you.

“Especially Dionysus.”

Placing your orders, you fall into silence, slowly working your way through a basket of bread. Wanda tells you about work, about Jarvis, and it’s hard to make your smile genuine. Your days are numbered, have been since the day you woke up to the blog, but even then you were struck by the same kind of nonchalance that had led you there in the first place. It’s a year. Twelve months, plenty of time. Three hundred and sixty-five days, you’ll find them. Now you’re here, a mere two and a half months away, still as lost as ever. You take a sip of your water, swallow, repeat the same halfhearted affirmations.

_You won’t die._

_You won’t be harmed._

_Life will go on._

“So, what’s up with the blog?”

Wanda interrupts your thoughts, pulling you back to reality where your slice of bread is a pile of crumbs on your plate. Quickly, you squish them into a little ball, covering them with a napkin.

“I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet,” you offer, avoiding her gaze.

“Yeah, I could tell. No new posts, but it’s still there.” Wanda gives a little huff, and through your lashes you can see her folding her own napkin over her empty plate. “I gotta admit, I’ve been checking it every day, just to see if you’ve made a decision. Not that there’s any pressure, there’s absolutely zero pressure from this end.”

“I talked to them.” You’re not sure why you’re saying it because you know how it sounds.

“What? Did you-”

“No. I just…” With a sigh, you finally look up, meeting your friend’s gaze with a sad smile. “In the fifteen or twenty years I’ve been able to talk and grasp the concept of having a soulmate, I haven’t- I’ve never really talked to them. I’ve played imaginary games with friends of how life with our soulmates will be and how it will happen, but I’ve never actually… talked to them. I mean, they’re there, right? Even if we’re not together yet, they’re still out there somewhere. Maybe they’ve been talking to me all this time, to the idea of me and I’ve just been quiet as if the part they play in my life means nothing.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Whoever and wherever they are, they still dream of you, and they won’t think any less of you for not having talked to them. Not everyone does.”

Sniffling, you blink hard a couple of times, “Did you talk to Jarvis?”

Wanda blushes, and you feel your heart sink a little. Of course she did. “A few times,” she confirms. “But it was like in the last year before we met. He apparently did not talk to me at all. I know it’s none of my business, but… what did you say?”

She’s right. It’s none of her business and it’s one of those things that most people prefer to keep to themselves. Science will tell you that no quantifiable evidence has been found to support the theory of a psychic connection between soulmates, that talking to them, trying to glean anything about them through hacks, spiritual practices or any other quasi-scientific methods makes no discernible difference. Of course that doesn’t stop people from trying, from talking. They say it’s a kind of comfort, and after your visit home on Christmas, you might be inclined to agree.

“I…” You could decline to tell her, Wanda wouldn’t mind. You could. But your time is almost up, what’s there left to lose? “I told them I tried.”

* * *

 

_“Try flexing your muscles here… bit more… Ah, seems we’re out of time for now.”_

_“Mr. Barnes? Shuri Udaku, head of R &D at Udaku Tech, this is our senior prosthesist, Okoye-”_

_“Please, call me Bucky.”_

_“Bucky? That’s interesting. Are you ready to start?”_

_“Don’t think I’ll ever be, but it can’t be worse than how I ended up here.”_

_“You can relax, serg- Bucky. We won’t spring anything on you. Today is just for assessing which type of prosthesis you will need, we’ll take a mold of your residual limb and discuss what your goals are so we can take these into consideration when contacting your insurance company.”_

_“I feel like I’m 15 again and asked what I wanna be when I grow up. I… I don’t know. Feels like I don’t know much about anything these days.”_

_“That’s okay, we can return to that in time. Okoye?”_

_“You can remain seated, mr. Barnes. I am going to examine the residual limb. If at any point you feel pain or discomfort, I want you to tell me immediately.”_

_“Bucky? Bucky, look at me. You don’t have to look at it right now, it’s okay.”_

_“I… God, I… can you- can you talk t-to me?”_

_“Sure. Don’t expect me to give away any company secrets though.”_

_“Are you even old enough to have secrets? Fuck, sorry. Sorry, that was- that was really rude of me. Please, I-”_

_“I’m fine, Bucky. Being a genius comes with a side of tough skin.”_

_“I was rude. I’m really sorry. Apparently that was not located in my left arm.”_

_“It’s never that easy, is it?”_

_“There’s the fuckin’ truth.”_

_“You’ll make this work.”_

_“All done, mr. Barnes.”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 11.33 am:_

_Hi guys._

_Sorry for the radio silence, I had a very unfortunate meeting with a bottle of scotch. I’m still feeling it in my soul._

_But yeah, back on my bullshit. I’m trying to find something to do, but right now I’m trying not to freak out so much because I’m so close to my window closing. I’m down to double digits on my counter and it’s finally sinking in. I’ve never properly thought about what I’ll do if I don’t find my soulmate. Part of it has been not knowing how my life will look at the end of this. Life is ever-changing and all that crap, maybe I’d be in a different position than I was when I started this, yada yada yada._

_I’m not._

_I’m still right where I started. I’ve just not wanted to linger on the possibility that my soulmate and I might miss our window. Of course it was always a possibility, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to linger on it. No one wants that. We all want to find out soulmates, but I’m in the very real position where want and reality may not overlap._

_X_

_**SaltNPepper**  commented: I’m so glad to see you back, and I’m keeping all fingers and toes crossed that you’ll find them!!_

_**NYLGuest** commented: the hell kind of scotch did you have? just so I can stay far away from it_

_**13ShadesofSharon** commented: You can do it, Soulie! Homestretch!_

_**Anonymous** commented: u shd just give up_

_**coffeeismysoulmate** replied to  **Anonymous** ’s comment: dude, harsh._

_**AgentBlogger** commented: you know what, it’s awfully cliché, but you’ll still be a badass if at the end of the counter you still haven’t found them. Your worth is not dependent on whether you find your soulmate or not._

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

The woman in front of you looks a little intimidating, head shaved save for an intricate pattern of swirls wrapping around to the nape of her neck. Her eyes are a deep blue, curious and maybe a little apprehensive as you shake her hand.

“First time here?”

“I, uh… Yeah. I… heard about this, and it- I don’t know.” You stumble over your words, looking around the small room. About fifteen other people are walking around, some hugging each other in greeting, others talking in smaller groups. There’s coffee and cookies on a table in the far left corner, a small couch that looks like it’s seen better days in the other.

“Hey, no judgment, we’re all in the same boat here. Name’s Nebula, and yeah, that’s my actual name. Parent’s were clearly on something. So, how long ago did your clock stop ticking?”

Great. Just the question you didn’t want anyone to ask. Finding out there are groups for people who have missed their window seemed as good an opportunity as ever. It would give you something to write about and a way to see how you could be living in a few months. Going there with time left before your window closes had felt like going undercover and now you were confronted about your cover.

“I… actually have time left,” you confess, and Nebula’s expression changes immediately, the easy smile melting into confusion and suspicion. “Sorry, I just- I have two months left, and I don’t know if I’ll find my soulmate in that time. I’m… trying to come to terms with the fact that I might end up lonely, and I saw your flyer, and now I really feel like I should leave and not talk about this like you don’t talk about Fight Club.”

Nebula regards you for a moment, arms crossed over her chest. This was a bad idea, you should have just stayed home, found something else to do. Read a good book. Build a blanket fort. Is lace making still a thing? You’re gonna get the same tired line and you’ll be turned away and you won’t be able to come back when you actually have missed your window because the mortification would kill you.

“You’ll find them yet,” Nebula tells you, smiling when you heave a sigh, hoisting your messenger bag up higher on your shoulders. “Come on.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Motioning for you to follow, Nebula leads you over to the table with coffee and cookies, “The look on you when I said it… You’ve heard it a lot, huh?”

Snorting, you grab a cup, pumping the thermos, “You have no idea.”

“I heard it so often I wanted to tear my hair out. Preferably tear myself apart too once I was down to one week left. It’s such a weird thing, you know. It’s not exactly taboo, but people still don’t talk about it. Not finding your soulmate isn’t the end of your life, but society sure makes you feel that way.”

“Yeah, more than a little sometimes,” you nod, looking around again. “So this group? Are you, like… dating? What happens here?”

“Definitely not a dating service,” Nebula says around a mouthful of cookie. “Some are dating, and those usually come and go. Most of us are just here to have something. Just because you lost that one connection doesn’t mean you can’t forge new ones and meet interesting people. We’re a place to come to when you need a break from all the couples in your life, have someone to talk to with at least one shared life experience.”

A man across the room spots the two of you, waving at Nebula with a big grin on his face and pointing to the entrance. She shakes her head, snagging two more cookies.

“Duty calls, you gonna be okay here?”

A few of the other attendants have started to eye you, all soft smiles and looking like they’re itching to come introduce themselves. Somehow, you expected this to feel terrifying, but as you let it sink in that these people have gone through this major event and come out the other side, a sense of calms settles over you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

* * *

 

_“Hey, man.”_

_“Hey, punk.”_

_“You look good.”_

_“Lay it off, Steve. I look like a hobo and Cousin It had a baby.”_

_“You develop mind powers or somethin’?”_

_“No, just an acute sense of self-criticism. How you holding up? Guys doin’ okay?”_

_“Yeah, you know, same old, same old. Sam gripes about food, Dum Dum is an asshole. God, I can’t wait to get out of here.”_

_“Aw, c’mon, Stevie, you were gonna become a captain and kick my ass into the dust.”_

_“Yeah, well, someone beat me to that last part. I declined another tour. -coming home next month.”_

_“Next month? When the hell did that happen?”_

_“-been ruminating a coupla months before… you know. It’s what I want, honestly.”_

_“Shit, I’m getting a call. You and I are gonna talk more next time, okay?”_

_“Okay, Buck.”_

_“Hello?”_

_“Mr. Barnes, Shuri Udaku.”_

_“Yeah, hi.”_

_“We have been in contact with your insurance company and discussed some of the points you made in your evaluation form, and I have a proposal. Udaku Tech is spearheading a new type of prosthetic, we’re gearing up to start beta testing.”_

_“Good for you.”_

_“The type of prosthetic you will need happens to be one of the first prototypes of our new line that is up for testing, and there’s an opportunity here for us to try it out on a real-life subject and for you to save a lot of money.”_

_“How?”_

_“Since it’s the first prototype and we will very likely need to make adjustments, we could offer the prosthesis to you at a significantly lower price than our current top seller for your needs. Your insurance company will still cover part of the costs, and what’s left should be very reasonable sum.”_

_“So I’ll be your guinea pig. What’s the catch?”_

_“No catch as such. You come in for adjustments as needed, probably a good amount more than any model already on the market would require. Should you choose to continue on with the artificial limb after the kinks are worked out, we’ll go down to monthly or even bi-monthly check-ups to follow up for quality and maintenance control.”_

_“Can I think about it?”_

_“Sure. You have an appointment next week with Okoye, maybe you could give a tentative answer then? We want you to be up and running with an artificial limb as soon as possible, and there are certain preparations needed should you choose to participate in our trial run.”_

_“I… Sure. Sure, I can do that.”_

* * *

 

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** posted at 10.23 pm:_

_I think I’ll be okay._

_Whatever happens, I’ll be okay._

_X_

_Load 100+ comments_

 


	12. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. You have no idea how much you guys make me smile and squeal and strive to make every bit of writing I share with you the best it can possibly be. I will be away tomorrow (Sunday 11th November) for most of the day, so I'm posting this the same night as I post it on tumblr to be on the safe side. With one chapter left, I can only say that I am incredibly humbled by your feedback and I hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter.

_New post drafted by **DesperatelySeekingSoulmate** :_

_I remember hating having my birthday in March. Weather always sucked, you could never do anything fun outdoors because guess what, mother nature was out to get you._

_Now I hate having my birthday in March for a whole different reason. March is preceded by February and February means fucking Valentines Day._

_I’m way past holding onto hope. My days are numbered, I’ve done my best and it’s not been enough. Come next month, my window will close. I don’t need a whole god damn holiday to rub my impending loneliness in my fucking face._

_Sorry._

_I’ll be okay. Just not today. Tomorrow’s not looking good either._ _Fuck._

* * *

 

_“This is not the final prosthesis, we’re just using it to test the connectors. Any irritation? Pain?”_

_“No more than usual. Phantom pain is a bitch and a half.”_

_“Yes, I can… see.”_

_“‘S not pretty. Happened the first month after… after I got back. Doc’s keeping an eye on it and my pain levels.”_

_“Good. Now, we’re also trying this model on to get an idea of final length. We don’t want you walking around with your left arm absurdly longer than your right. The final product will also be lighter and with more control than the current myoelectric top sellers.”_

_“Wait, myoelectric, those are the ones-”_

_“- that use existing muscles to allow control of the limb. Our new tech is built upon it. Your final prosthesis will also more closely resemble the build of your arm as it was. We’re using the 3D scans we took of your right arm a few weeks back to construct the artificial limb so it will look and feel as close to your own as possible.”_

_“Right. No one will notice the weird mechanical hand on the skittish dude.”_

_“Mr. Barnes- Bucky. I have been working with this for ten years. Ten years, and I still can’t imagine the pain most of our clients have gone through. I’m not gonna tell you this will make things normal. But in time it will make things easier.”_

_“I know. Sorry, I’m being a downer. Shit! It- it moved!”_

_“It did._ _Well done.”_

* * *

 

You’re already curled up on the couch, aimlessly browsing through Netflix when Darcy all but kicks the door down. One hand is gripped tight around the shoulder strap of her laptop while the other is holding two grocery bags.

“I have ice, tequila and five different kinds of fruit,” she declares, slightly out of breath as she donkey kicks the door closed. “Wanna watch an action movie and drink frozen margaritas and not interact with anyone until the 15th?”

“Not a fan of-”

“Don’t. Even. Say it.” Darcy tips her head backwards to let her beanie fall off, toeing off her boots and then stomping to the kitchen.

Getting up off the couch, you follow her. That’s a resounding “no”, then. You grab the cutting board and the knife before Darcy can start chopping fruits and possibly fingers, leaving her to load up the mixer with ice and booze.

“So not a fan?” you say, slicing limes and handing them to her to squeeze.

“Nope,” comes the clipped reply.

“Did… something happen?”

“This day happened. It always happens. Every damn year.”

She tosses the squeezed halves into the sink, slamming the top onto the mixer and pressing to blitz the content. The sound is piercing for a few seconds until the ice crushes and turns into a smooth slush. You grab two glasses, regular ones that will hold a lot more than a standard margarita glass would, setting them down to rim with lime and salt. Darcy divides the frozen slush between the two, and takes one to hold up expectantly.

“Cheers and fuck this day in particular.”

You echo her statement, taking a careful sip, feeling the burn of tequila instantly. Darcy, on the other hand, gulps down her margarita, immediately giving a squeak and scrunching up her face.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate brain freeze. I hate it, I hate it, oh fuck me sideways, I hate it.”

“Press your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” you advise her, taking another careful sip.

“You don’t know basic self defense techniques, but you know how to ease brain freeze?” she wheezes, blinking through the sensation.

“I have a selective memory. Movie?”

Netflix tries to suggest every romantic comedy ever, and both you and Darcy loudly nix them with exaggerated barfing noises, scrolling down until you finally come across the action section. A further scroll to find the right movie with maximum action and minimum gushy stuff, and you clink your glasses together again. It’s a pretty good movie, fills its purpose nicely. You tell Darcy about the time the movie hit the theatre and you googled the song in the trailer and found someone had commented “listening to this may lead to excessive growth of BALLS” on Youtube, and how if that was true, you should have balls the size of Texas. Darcy nearly snorts her margarita, and you have to pause mid-explosion just to get it out of your respective systems.

There’s more margaritas. More explosions. Fight scenes that sort of start to get either really good or just enhanced by tequila. Darcy makes finger guns and makes sound effects as bad guys fall down left and right. There’s more barf noises when one of the good guys kisses the girl.

“So what have we learned tonight?” you ask when the credits roll, head lolling to the left to look at Darcy.

“That explosions look cool, there’s always a girl and that dragon fruit makes for a surprisingly good ingredient in frozen margaritas,” she says, slurring only a little.

“Yup.”

“My sister texted me.” There’s a beat of silence. “And then my mom. Never a good combination. ‘Specially not today. I don’t think… they mean to make me feel like shit, but th-” She suppresses a hiccup, “but they do.”

You roll your head back to stare at the names rolling on the otherwise black screen. “Wanna hear something? Might make you feel a lil’ better?”

“Shoot.”

You let out a breath. One… two…

“I turn 25 next month… and I don’t think I’ll meet my person. And it’s ok. Mostly ok. I mean, now it really doesn’t feel 100% fine. Maybe like 70% fine. I’ll get there.”

Silence. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississ-

“Well, shit.”

* * *

 

_“Shit, that looks…”_

_“The plating allows for finer recalibration of movements, and the sensors are the latest technology to ensure you have a wide range of mobility and as fluid an experience as possible.”_

_“I swear I played a game where the character had one’a those when I was in high school.”_

_“We are still developing a better solution to replace the harness, but for now it will do, and with use, you will barely feel it. Are you ready?”_

_“I… Can I have a moment? You don’t need to leave or anythin’, I just…”_

_“Are you all right, mr. Barnes?”_

_“Yeah, yeah, ‘m okay. Get this thing on me.”_

_“You might need to ask for help the first few times, but you’ll no doubt learn to attach it quickly. You slide into it like this, make sure the sensors are nice and snug against your muscles. Once you feel you have slotted into it, you fasten the harness… like this and you’re ready. How does it feel?”_

_“It's… so light.”_

_“Any discomfort?”_

_“No, I don’t- I don’t think so.”_

_“Very well. Let’s set up the sensors and get you moving.”_

* * *

 

_“I know you’re in there, get off your ass and open the door!”_

Hearing Wanda’s voice is a surprise to say the least. You wouldn’t exactly say that you have been avoiding her, but yeah, in a way you have. The blog has not been updated since before Valentine’s Day, because you know if you poured your heart out the way you wanted to, she'd’ve kicked down your door long ago.

_“Mrs. Feinstein still likes me and she will lend me the spare key if I ask nicely.”_

“So go ask her!” you yell back between bites of sandwich.

_“Don’t be ridiculous! Open the damn door!”_

Rolling your eyes, you trudge over to undo the deadbolt and swing the door open. Wanda is standing outside with her hands on her hips, meeting your level stare with her own.

“For the record, I am only doing this because I don’t want Mrs. Feinstein to get in trouble by handing out spare keys to non-residents,” you tell her, stepping aside to let her in.

“You look like shit. Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Wanda…”

“No. Pants, now,” she orders, pointing to your room.

You gape in mock-offense, motioning to yourself, “I am wearing pants!”

“Something that is not sweats. Now, chop chop!”

Staring daggers at her, you huff and throw your hands up in defeat. You grumble through slouching into your room, finding a pair of jeans that are, well, mostly clean, and a shirt that isn’t two sizes too big.

“Am I presentable for society, mother, or will you send me back for a bonnet?” you snark, coming back out, grabbing your phone and keys.

“Remember when I told you you were looking like a heroine out of a 19th century novel?”

“Actively trying to forget it.”

“Yeah, the bonnet would not help your case.”

Shrugging, you playfully hip check her. She takes the lead, and for a while it’s like any other walk. Small talk, people-watching, arguing over what makes or doesn’t make you a 19th century novel heroine. Then she herds you onto the E train.

“Wait, why are we going to Queens?” you ask under your breath, shuffling into an empty seat towards the back of the train car.

“You’ll see. Now are we gonna talk about your last-”

“Wanda!” Your eyes bulge and you dive to cover her mouth.

It’s not that you think anyone’s gonna overhear you and figure out you’re the face behind the blog. But it kinda is. Hiding behind the screen name has felt good, especially the last couple of months, and you don’t need any more people knowing who you are. Wanda and sort of Steve is enough, even more than enough considering that in a few weeks your counter will hit zero and that will be that.

“Fine.” Wanda scoots away from you, holding up her hands. “I just got worried about your last- oh, for god’s sake, just let me finish! I got worried about your last  _text_.”

You snort, “Real subtle.”

“Subtler than you trying to wrestle me?”

“Ugh, fine. My text. What was there to worry about?”

Your friend regards you for a moment, making you look away. It’s a little scary how well she can read you, and you don’t want to have this particular lecture on the E train headed for Queens of all places. Looking down, you fiddle with the cuffs of your coat, staring down at the drab floor.

“It sounded a bit… harsh,” Wanda offers diplomatically.

“It was a bad day, okay? A bad day in a bad week. Forgive me if I didn’t get all up in the Valentine’s Day spirit because my schedule is a little pressed.”

“You worried you’ll miss your deadline?”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, turning to face Wanda with a sigh. “Maybe I’m past trying to make it and maybe talking about it doesn’t make me feel great because this is a pretty big deadline we’re talking about and I don’t have a lot of time to pull a damn miracle out of thin air. Maybe I’ll just say fuck it and let the project fall through. Not like I have a lot to lose.”

The way she looks at you, small smile and sad eyes, makes it seem like you just said something that genuinely hurt. Wanda utters a soft “okay” and shifts, crossing her legs and looking straight ahead. The silence between you persists until you get off the train, though it’s only interrupted because she tells you where to turn once you get out of the station, leading you to a bus stop. You know that Wanda’s parents live somewhere in Queens, but to your knowledge, you’re heading to the wrong part of the borough.

“Wanda… why are we here?”

You look up at the wrought iron gates and past those the throngs of erected stones inbetween small paths. Wanda says nothing, simply walks through the gate and veers left at the first path. You follow her in silence, head bowed down as the sound of crunching gravel under your feet disturb the serenity. It feels like you walk for hours, turning here and there and you wonder if Wanda will find her way back out before she finally comes to a stop in front of a small headstone.

_Pietro Django Maximoff_

“Wanda…” Your eyes are drawn to the dates below the name, and your words die on your tongue.

“This is my brother. He was in an accident, died just a few months before we were set to start college. It felt like part of me died with him, and I’m only his sister. I don’t know how much I buy into soulmates being so connected they can feel each other from a distance, but I know that somewhere out there is a person who won’t ever find who they are looking for because my brother was their soulmate and-”

Her voice breaks, and she casts her eyes down. Drawing your lips between your teeth, you sling and arm around her, pulling her closer to let her lean up against you. You never even knew.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to accept that he was gone, and with every passing year it got harder and harder to bring it up because it hurts to have to remember. I shouldn’t be remembering him like this, not yet.”

“I’m…” You swallow. Your voice doesn’t want to work right, eyes blurring. “I’m so sorry.”

“When I met Vis, I was so happy,” she mumbles, sniffling. “First person I told was Pietro. I was terrified to bring Vis home. I knew my parents would be happy, and Vis would be a gentleman, but I’d have to come home and bring this… this happiness and joy and we’d all be reminded that there should be someone else there to celebrate, someone that we’d never get to celebrate this for. And yes, of course he’d be happy for me. He would, he is. It just felt like the wrong kind of happiness to feel at that moment.”

“Does Jarvis know?”

Wanda nods, straightening back up, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her coat. “I told him in the car when we went to see my parents. Ended up half an hour late because we came here. Vis…” She lets out a low laugh, “Vis wanted to introduce himself. He’s a good man.”

“He is. Maybe a little odd, but he’s good to you, and I really couldn’t imagine the two of your with anyone else,” you smile, feeling a tear roll down your cheek.

“That’s what soulmates do. They complete you. And I’d hate for you to miss out on that because you gave up now.”

“Wanda, please… I will be okay. Right now, yeah, it sucks, I’m not gonna lie. It sucks because everything has been heart eyes and flowers and candy and cupids and it stings a little. There is not that much time left and it’s easier to just accept the fact that there is a very real possibility that I will end up alone. I’m doing myself a favour here. I’m not expecting to meet them anymore, so when I strike out the harsh reality won’t be so painful.”

“God, you’re so dramatic. I should just lock you in the attic right now.”

“Fine,” you shrug your shoulders, “don’t blame me when your curtains mysteriously catch fire.”

“Promise me you won’t’ become a hermit.”

“And be the weirdo without a soulmate? Please.”

* * *

 

_“Jamie! Visitor!”_

_“Damnit… Kinda busy, Ma!”_

_“What?”_

_“Busy!”_

_“I’m sending them up!”_

_“For shit’s sake… Ma, I’m fuc-”_

_“Jeez, you kiss her with that mouth?”_

_“Stevie? Jesus Christ, haven’t ya heard of a phone?”_

_“Thought I’d surprise you. I only got back last night, woulda come over but my ma… You know how she is.”_

_“A lot like mine?”_

_“I think there is a bald spot on my head from where she’s patted me all morning.”_

_“It’s good to see you, pal.”_

_“You, too, Buck. You heard anythin’ about Rumlow?”_

_“Not really. I… don’t remember much about… about the whole thing.”_

_“Oh. Right, shit, I’m sorry, I- I don’t know what I was thinkin’.”_

_“Quit squirming, you look like you’re about to ask me to prom, punk.”_

_“So, you’re doin’ okay? Is that… Is that your…”_

_“Yeah, it’s my new arm. Got it a coupla days ago, supposed to be the final version but I think we’ll need to finetune some stuff. Or maybe it’s just me who needs finetunin’. I’ve accidentally flipped off Ma more times than I’d care to count.”_

_“It looks like something outta those games we used to play, remember those?”_

_“‘S what I’ve been tellin’ ‘em.”_

_“I’m glad you’re okay, Buck.”_

_“I wouldn’t go that far. PTSD is not in the same neighbourhood as okay. Hell, I’ll be lucky to even get PTSD to be one borough over from okay.”_

_“It’s bad, huh?”_

_“Let’s just say there’s a reason I’m living at home right now.”_

_“Hey, if you ever need to get away from this or just… just hang out, I’ll be moving into an apartment in Vinegar Hill in a few weeks. You’re welcome anytime.”_

_“I don’t wanna put you out, Steve…”_

_“I’m serious, Buck. Til the end of the line wasn’t just in the army. You’ve been following my crazy ass to hither an’ yon since kindergarten. I’ll do the same for you. Whatever you need, pal.”_

_“Sure. Thanks.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the best I could to research prosthetic limbs, the different varieties on the market and how they work. In the end, this is a work of fiction, and I have probably taken a lot of artistic freedom with how I imagined Bucky’s prosthetic limb working, but I hope I didn’t veer too much off course.
> 
> The cemetery Wanda and reader visit is Mount Hebron cemetery in Flushing, Queens, one of the largest Jewish cemeteries in the city. Pietro’s middle name Django was taken from Earth-616, where Pietro’s middle name is Django after his maternal uncle and foster father.


	13. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re finally here, guys. Thirteen weeks later, we’re back to March, and I can’t thank you guys enough for going on this adventure with me. I couldn't very well let you wait one day longer than the peeps at tumblr for the last chapter. I’ve enjoyed every bit of feedback, every theory, every threat of coming to kick my ass or cursing me six ways to Sunday. Hopefully you will love me by the end of this.

It’s not that you think people are doing it to be mean. They probably can’t help it. But god fucking damn it, if you have to walk through the lab one more time and catch anyone giving you glances of pity, you will break something.

Or someone.

Or both.

There are a fair few of your co-workers who know when your birthday is, a handful of those who know the significance of this one. No one’s said anything outright, they’re not that insensitive, but the looks are grating enough that the last week before your birthday, you have to steel yourself every damn morning after you’ve passed through security. Sometimes it even starts when you put away your bag and change into your work clothes. Sometimes you can get through most of the day before you can feel someone’s eyes burning a slow hole of pity into your back. Thank god, this place isn’t one of those where staff birthdays are made into a big hooplah with cake and streamers and people singing Happy Birthday while you quietly contemplate whether it is possible to self-suffocate in a cake.

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 8.33 pm_

_I know I’ve still got a few days on my counter, but I also know when to admit defeat._

_It’s been a wild ride, and I can honestly say I’ve gotten to see new sides of myself and of this city by trying to find a needle in a haystack, but it’s time to throw in the towel. I can’t do this anymore. I’m not saying this because I want pity. I don’t._

_I really, really don’t._

_In fact, I don’t know if I’ll even post anything after this. What else is there to say? I did my best, and despite it all, our paths didn’t cross in time. I knew it was a possibility and now that possibility is staring me in the face, wearing a corny birthday hat and asking me to accept it. God, I sound overdramatic now, don’t I? Pretty sure my friend will fly a fucking blimp over the building I live in and ask when I’ll be moving into the attic. Calm down, W, I won’t turn into a hermit. At least not for long. I’ll still celebrate my birthday. Probably not as excessively as I did last year, but still._

_I’ll be fine. If I say it enough, it’s bound to happen, right?_

_I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine._

_Just because I’ll be alone doesn’t mean I have to be lonely. Thanks for the adventure._

_X_

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* * *

 

_“This is it, huh?”_

_“Will be next week. You still comin’?”_

_“Barring any immediate disasters, sure. For a little bit at least.”_

_“Sure, sure, you stay as long as you want to.”_

_“I hope you got someone else bringing the muscle because I’ll be about as useful as a screen door on a submarine with this thing.”_

_“Looks cool though.”_

_“Can’t argue with that. Feels a bit weird. The plates take some getting used to. Snags on fucking everything until I learn to control the damn thing better. The prosthesist and the lead engineer say I gotta work up to do actual heavy lifting.”_

_“Sounds like something someone would say to get out of helping an old pal move.”_

_“Fuck you, Rogers, is that how you talk to a poor vet of this nation’s army?”_

_“‘S how I talk you, jerk.”_

_“God, you remember that dude from that company- fuck, I can’t remember his name. Swole as all fuck, gave ‘built like a brick shithouse’ a whole new meaning?”_

_“The Destroyer? No sense of actual humour which in itself was hilarious?”_

_“Yeah, that guy! Where the fuck is he when you need him to throw a couch over his shoulder?”_

* * *

 

“I swear to god, if they sing to me, I will fucking cuss at them and throw myself out the nearest window,” you grumble, slumping down onto the kitchen table chair, pushing your dinner around the plate.

“Someone’s feeling chipper about tomorrow,” Darcy notes, plating her own dinner and joining you at the table.

You shovel some potatoes into your mouth, chewing with your brows drawn together, glaring at the calendar on the wall behind Darcy where tomorrow is circled in red. Wanda’s doing, she has somehow managed to make a big deal out of a day that you very much don’t want to be a big deal. Not that she’d concede to her party planning being any kind of deal at all.

“It’s not even my real birthday.”

Darcy gives a huff, “No, but it is a Saturday, which tends to be a day when a lot of people have time and possibility to partake in social gatherings, especially if alcohol is involved.”

“God, let there be alcohol,” you moan between chews.

“Okay, gross.” Your roomie crinkles her nose at you. “I should lock everything but the piss water scotch into Fort Knox just for that.”

“Darce! I thought you didn’t hate me!”

“That was before I had to see half-chewed potatoes and whatever else you’ve got mixed in there. Behave, or I will make sure there is nothing but the Scotch We Don’t Talk About tomorrow.”

The two of you square off for a few seconds before both breaking down into smiles and badly disguised snorts. Not that you think Darcy would actually make good on her threats, but some things are not worth risking. Between that and Wanda appointing herself the head of your birthday celebration committee (members: Wanda and Darcy), you need there to be alcohol and plenty of it, preferably enough to sleep through all of next week so you won’t have to live through it with your mental faculties unimpaired. With an exaggerated swallow, you clear your throat primly.

“Fine.” A beat of silence, then: “But I’m only doing this for the wine.”

Darcy stares at you, and you can see the moment she registers what you said, mock-glaring at you. “I will put ash juice in everything you love.”

You almost choke on your food trying to suppress the laughter that would otherwise propel it all over Darcy. Somehow you have a feeling that if she were to get half-chewed food all over her, then there would definitely be ash juice everywhere, especially in places where ash juice should never go. Quickly, you finish dinner, retreating to your own room. Friday night, and you’re hiding in your room. You feel like 15 all over again, staying in because you want to or because there was nothing else to do.

It’s almost automatic when you do it, fingers moving fluidly to bring up the blog, your last post staring back at you. The counter is down to single digits, somehow even more intimidating than when you were on double or even triple digits. Single digits are somehow so much more final, heralding the end in a compact concept.

“Fuck…” you mutter, still unable to exit out of the app.

There are no more tricks to write about, no need to keep up appearances and stay chipper. It was never the point. Well, it was never the main point. Maybe, once upon a much more idealistic time, you thought you could keep up the posting, even if  _(when)_  things started to come to a close. You could be a beacon, one of those who didn’t find their soulmates and who was honest about it, working through the preconceived notions and coming out of it stronger, regardless of whether you found your soulmate or not.

Some beacon you are right now, tossing in the towel and feeling all of those preconceptions hanging heavy on your shoulders, your heart, your soul. The comments have steadily trickled in, but you don’t check them anymore. You still have some control, a small shred of self-preservation. It’s all encouragements that ring false and misguided in your ears. You don’t need them, don’t want them. You want to grieve, you realize, finally setting down the phone on your bed. Grabbing your pillow, you hug it tight, burying your face in it. There is a life after your birthday. In time things might be okay, but right now, you want to grieve for the life that might have been, for the person on the other side of the connection. Whoever they are, they’re gonna be alone, too, and though you know nothing about them, nothing about their thoughts and dreams and goals, you grieve for their loneliness, for whatever they might think once their day comes and they realize they, too, will go through life without a soulmate. Will they have a group like Nebula’s? Will they be stronger than you feel right now? Hell, what if they have already passed, like Pietro?

“I tried…” you whisper into your pillow, feeling tears starting to sting at the corners of your eyes, drying into the worn cotton of your pillowcase. “I tried. I tried. I tried.”

* * *

 

_“You know, I thought you guys were supposed be good at hiding and stuff. You could have at least tried.”_

_“Incredible. You’re twenty and you still don’t know how to fucking knock, Becca.”_

_“Don’t blame me, it’s in the Constitution of Little Sisters. ‘Thou shalt never knock on thy older brother’s chamber door before entering’. I can show you the exact paragraph.”_

_“Any particular reason you decided to be annoying?”_

_“I don’t know, any particular reason you’re sitting out on the fire escape drinking shitty beer like you’re seventeen and trying to look all broody and angsty?”_

_“I fucking perfected that look, thank you very much.”_

_“Sure you did. Now what gives?”_

_“My birthday’s next week, and…”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t really tried to find them. Thought I’d have time, y’know?”_

_“You were out fighting a war.”_

_“Yeah, but ‘s not like I thought I’d be out there for that long. It was gonna be a tour, maybe two. It just… We kept signing up for additional tours, Steve and I, and it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. I was signing on for another tour, and then another- I never thought about the fact that I was signing away time that I could have spent differently. What if that time I signed away to serve was really time I could’ve had here or, fuck, anywhere else, finding my soulmate, not- not getting shot to hell.”_

_“Buck, there’s still-”_

_“I don’t want pity. You don’t need to say it.”_

_“What’s brought this on?”_

_“I’ve been- Shit. Just been thinking ‘s all. Got more time for that nowadays. Anyway, I think it’s for the best either way.”_

_“Don’t say that.”_

_“Face it, Becs, ‘m not exactly the most eligible bachelor in New York. Hell, I’m not even the most eligible bachelor on our street.”_

_“Please, if you think mr. Schmidt is more eligible than you are, it is my sisterly duty to punch you.”_

_“Another nugget from the Constitution of Little Sisters?”_

_“‘Thou shalt not let your dumbass older brother be a dick to himself.’”_

_“‘fraid that ship sailed a long time ago. But thanks for tryin-. Ow!”_

_“Just following the rules, dumbass.”_

* * *

 

“I think I preferred you when you were looking out across a room like a 19th century novel heroine.” Wanda plops down next to you on the couch, curling her legs up underneath her and shuffling up close to you. “There was a certain kind of romantic hope in your eyes.”

You give a snort, crossing your legs and pulling at a loose thread in your shirt, “Different times, Maximoff. The romantic hope has been snuffed out.”

“Then will you at least give it a proper send off? Are you really going to sit out here in an old college tee and sweats that should probably have gone into the same dumpster fire as the cursed lamp?”

Wanda cocks her head, tries to catch your gaze. She and Darcy have been puttering around the apartment for about an hour, talking about directional flow and optimal chair arrangements and playlists as if you’re hosting something way more fancy than a half-assed birthday party. It’s just a party. It’s half the people from last year and truthfully, it kind of feels like you’re hosting a wake.

“Doesn’t matter,” you offer, attempting a weak smile. “And ‘s not like any of those coming tonight haven’t seen me wearing worse things, or do I need to remind you of spring break sophomore year?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Wait, what happened sophomore year?” Darcy asks, plopping down on your other side, effectively sandwiching you between the two.

“An unholy concoction happened,” Wanda groans, and you give a laugh.

“And then we tried to out-Florida a bunch of Floridians…”

“…which went about as well as you can imagine.”

Darcy looks between you and Wanda, eyebrows knit together, “I know I was not the poster child for what a Good College Student is supposed to be, but fuck me, did you guys study at all?”

“You know, there are days when I ask myself that,” you reply, leaning your head back and staring up at the ceiling.

* * *

 

_“I can’t do it.”_

_“What? Hey, buddy, if you need to-”_

_“No, you dumbass. Shit, just- I just need a minute.”_

* * *

 

“You’re not gonna let me interact with people dressed like this, are you?”

“Nope.”

“It’s a party. And yeah, I know it can’t be fun to celebrate this particular one, but you are allowed to celebrate your 25th birthday. I promise you, the second I’m off work on Monday, I will come over, we’ll- we’ll sit shiva for your connection and you can dress however you like.”

With a groan, you heave yourself up and start slouching your way to your room. “I don’t get why it’s a big deal is all, it’s just-”

A knock on the door interrupts you, your eyes drawn to the wall clock. This is too early. You really need to get Bruce a working watch.

“This is why I’m hounding you,” Wanda says, coming up behind you to push you into your room. “Go change, I’ll get this.”

“Tell Bruce he won’t get any liquor until everyone’s here!” you call out after her, closing the door.

“Have you ever known Bruce to be on time?” she retorts, her voice muffled.

Seconds later, you pick up the unmistakable sound of the door opening, laughter and greetings being exchanged. Bruce or not, you’re not above digging out your old alarm clock and shoving it in their face. There are faint voices and you try to hurry through pulling on a pair of jeans that have only been worn one… okay, two days in a row, and a clean shirt with no collegiate ties whatsoever. Screw makeup.

“It’s my party and I’ll shun mascara if I want to…” you mumble, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten, pull your shoulders up and then pushing them back before relaxing. You can do this. You can. It’s just a party. Plastering on a smile that you can only hope is convincing, you pull the door open.

“Bruce, what the fuck-”

Three pairs of eyes stare at you, one of whom you have not seen before. Your heart does a leap in your chest, skipping a beat and then falling into the pit of your stomach. It’s not them.

“You’re not Bruce,” you state, coming to a halt barely through the door.

Not-Bruce, tall and muscly, somehow manages to look awkward in a way that should not be possible for someone of that build, shrinking into the doorway. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders pulled up to graze at the nape of dark blonde hair cropped close.

“Not since I last checked. Though honestly that was a while ago,” he tells you with a smile like puppies and rainbows. “Um, hi, I’m Steve?”

Blink.  _Steve_. You look at Wanda, who’s got a very smug expression spreading.

“Army Steve?”

“Yeah? I take it you’re Box With Legs?” Steve then turns to Wanda, actually lowering his voice as if you won’t be able to overhear him standing a whopping fifteen feet away, “I thought you said she knew?”

“We were having a moment, I was getting there. I thought  _someone_ ,” Wanda shoots you a pointed glare, “should not look like a hobo when you arrived.”

“Yes, please forgive my entirely unreasonable wish to dress however I want for my own birthday party,” you shoot back, finally managing to unstick from your frozen position and walk up to Steve, holding out your hand. “Hi. Welcome. Not much of a party yet, you're… kinda early.”

Steve shakes your hand, looking over his shoulder. “Yeah, that was kinda the idea. We… didn’t know how many people would be here later, so better safe than sorry.”

“Where is Grumpy, by the way?” Wanda asks, looking at Steve as if he’s hiding someone behind him. The guy is built, sure, but not that built.

“Yeah, about that, I don’t know if we’ll actually get to see him.”

“Did you bring a ghost to the birthday party?” Darcy asks jokingly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I have to warn you, I don’t do well with ghosts.”

“No! No, no, no ghosts, just my buddy. Well, our buddy-” Steve flounders, looking from Darcy to you and back to Darcy while motioning between Wanda and himself. “We both know him. I was in the army with him, he…”

A set of heavy footsteps echo through the stairway, followed by a deep voice that sends something tingling up your spine:  _“He is clearly the reason your dumb ass haven’t even gotten properly through the door, Rogers.”_

All through your teens and twenties you laughed or at the very least snorted at every romantic comedy you saw because every single one of them portrayed meeting your soulmate like this whole momentous thing. Time pauses, the world stops spinning on its axis, freaking angels descend from heaven to play the harp and sing hallelujah. It’s not that you have ever doubted that it’s a big moment; you were with Wanda when she met Vis after all.

But,  _god_.

Time really does slow down. One moment there is Steve, turning around to greet his friend, Wanda getting this big smile on her face, the next there is nothing but  _him_. He freezes when he sees you, mouth falling open and the flowers clutched in his right hand falling to the floor. You understand now; all of those stories that sound so sappy, so barf-inducing, so unreal, they’re… they’re this very moment and you can feel your heartbeat settle into a new rhythm, a steady thump that you know echoes in your soulmate’s chest.

“H-hi,” he stammers, blue eyes piercing, his hair pulled back in a messy knot that leaves tendrils falling from it.

“I’m-” you begin, falling silent. What is there to say? You know. He knows. These are emotions that you can’t articulate, can’t process amidst the world rearranging itself around you, inside you.

“Yeah.” There’s a smile, and it feels like home, a little crooked and frail but it warms you like sunshine.

“Hi.”

“We're… gonna leave you guys for a while.” Wanda’s voice cuts through your daze, rings distantly in your ears because your entire being refuses to relinquish an ounce of focus.

Neither of you move, nailed to your respective spot while the others shuffle around you. Darcy picks up the little bouquet of flowers, holding them out for the g-  _for your soulmate_  until he limply grabs them. The front door closes with a little click. Time continues to stand still.

You want to move closer, touch him, hold him, feel him with your entire body so you will know this is definitely happening. At the same time, you want to stay right where you are, map him out, every detail of him. The exact shade of blue in his eyes, the scruff that is just past a five o'clock shadow, the peek of a dark navy shirt under his pea coat that looks like it would be the softest thing in the world to touch.

There’s a faint sound, a muted slotting that draws your attention. Your eyes zero in on his left side, following the length of his arm, hand tucked in the pocket of his coat. Knitting your brows together, you cock your head. That sound. Your feet move, slow and steady so as not to rush the poor guy. That sound. You can see him stiffen by hour second step, can feel it by the next, but you can’t- That sound.

Gingerly, you place your hand over his arm, tugging to pull his hand from his pocket. Black leather gloves, but you know. You know that sound. Looking up at him, you give him a soft smile, a silent promise that you’re not worried, that he has no reason to be either. With measured movements you ease the glove off, one finger at a time until you can pull it off. Your stomach swoops when the dark lightweight alloy comes into view, individual panels recalibrating in response to his muscles, his nervous energy singing along the circuitry inside.  _That sound_.

“I'm… sorry.”

His voice is low and gritty, making you look back up at him again. The expression on his face speaks of a shame and defeat that makes no sense to you. His left hand stays still in your gentle grasp, his right coming up to brush at something on your cheek. The touch is soft, warm, and you crave it, crave him with every fiber of your being.

“Why?” Your own voice is more breath than anything.

Your soulmate holds his hand up, palm facing you to show a spot of wetness on the pad of his thumb. Tears. You quickly brush at the tracks, sniffing a breath.

“No, no, I’m not- You don’t- I just…” You let your fingers trail the scores of the plating, smiling fondly. “I made this.”

“You- you what?”

“I mean, not by myself, I-  I work for the company that makes it. This has been a pain in my goddamn ass for the last year.”

“You work for Udaku Tech?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been meeting with them once a week for the past month,” he tells you, turning over his left hand, slowly relaxing.

It brings out a laugh, finally making you close the distance and sling your arms around him. He’s slow to respond in kind, first only wrapping his right arm around you.

“I didn’t think I’d ever meet you,” you mumble, pressing into the scratchy fabric of his coat. “The psychic said you didn’t want to be found and I had pretty much accepted that we’d miss each other, but… it seems we’ve been heading each other’s way all this time.”

“I suppose I should be glad I only had to give an arm and not my leg, too… Wait, psychic? You went to a psychic?”

His incredulous tone makes you smile wide and think back on everything you’ve done in the past twelve months. The nightclubs, the speed dating, the freaking self-help book. You think about Nebula, about the group, and for a moment you feel a little sad that you won’t have reason to meet her again. You think about Peter, about the look on his face and how everyone cried and you wish you could go back in time to smack yourself. You think about Loki, and wonder whether he found his soulmate or not.

“It’s a whole story. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“I have a feeling I know where it will end.”

You reluctantly let go of each other, each taking a step back and looking down at the floor like two shy teenagers. Your soulmate recovers first, remembering the flowers and holding them out for you.

“Sorry, I should have given these first. It’s why I was a little late. Couldn’t very well come to your birthday without something.” He gives a snicker. “Steve said it was okay, that Wanda had said we didn’t need to bring anythin’ but ourselves. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Steve was raised by a pack'a wolves. My ma would have my head if I showed up empty-handed, so figured I’d get flowers. Kept talking myself up the entire walk up. Was gonna put on a smile, give you the flowers and say ‘Happy birthday, I’m Bucky, pleased to meetcha.’”

“Well… you still can,” you point out, bringing the bundle of flowers up to draw in the sweet, subtle scent. “‘S a good plan.”

Bucky lights up, straightening his posture and tucking his left hand behind his back, “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“My name’s James, but everyone calls me Bucky. And… I’m your soulmate.”

“Hello, Bucky. It’s good to finally meet you.”

* * *

 

_“You ever think we’ll have our lives together?”_

_“You mean this isn’t a life?”_

_“I’m just sayin’, I’m pretty sure our parents and grandparents didn’t have to do any of this.”_

_“Technically, our grandparents put us in this mess, go yell at them about the economy.”_

_“I’ll be sure to include that in my next birthday card to Nana Barnes. ‘Dear Nana, happy birthday and screw you and Pops for making a mess out of the economy.’ Yeah, that will go over well.”_

_“I’m sure Hallmark will have you covered.”_

_“Whatcha doin’?”_

_“Just… tying up some loose ends.”_

_“Should I be worried about exes jumping out of the woodworks?”_

_“See for yourself.”_

_**DesperatelySeekingSoulmate**  posted at 9.21 am_

_I feel like it’s time to move on. The blog will remain, but there will be no more posts from now on. My birthday came and went (thanks for the birthday wishes btw), so there really isn’t a purpose to this blog anymore._

_Especially not since my soulmate is sitting in the kitchen, cursing at a piece of toast while mutilating the NYT._

_Yup, we found each other. Was down to the wire though, but it worked out. I gave them a hand, they gave me their heart._

_I’m not gonna be hypocritical and preach about not giving up, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over, yada yada yada… because I had given up. I was ready to wake up on my birthday and go through life without knowing for certain who my soulmate is. Am I happy I found them? Of course I am. But I also know that a life without them, however unthinkable it is to me now, would not have been without meaning. So if you don’t find your soulmate, you are still ok. The world still waits for you to kick ass and take names. So go do that. Go kick ass. Live boldly._

_X_

_**Mostly ‘armless**  commented: You’re gonna make me goddamn cry into my cereal (we need more btw)._

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